Hell to Pay - Time May Change Me
by l.Umbra.l
Summary: After getting captured in Hell, things aren't looking good for Sam. With Crowley being the sleazy douchebag he always is, and Dean desperately trying to save his brother, what will happen to Sam? And at this point, does he even want to be saved? Change is a frightening thing, and when your only options are embracing or rejecting it, the choice isn't always that easy. Or painless.
1. Chapter I

**Chapter I**

An influential man once said, "If you're going through Hell, keep going."

Sam Winchester had been to Hell before. He leaped into the gaping abyss, the entrance to the Cage where he knew he would suffer for days, weeks, months and years. He knew what he signed up for, and he took that one last step without a single shred of doubt. Maybe, the only thing that worried him in that last moment was what would happen to his brother, with him gone. But only for a split second, because the next, he remembered the promise Dean made, that he would find Lisa and live a normal life, a life he deserved.

So, Sam wasn't concerned for his own well being, not one bit. When he found himself in the dark, too hot and too humid cell that was the Cage, he was a man prepared for everything. And it hurt, the pain excruciating, as the Devil took his anger and sorrow out on his soul, his and his half brother's screams echoing through the endless darkness that seemed to swallow every last bit of hope Sam ever had of getting off easy. It seemed that the archangel Michael had a few bones to pick with the innocent young man, too, and listening to Adam's pain filled screams of anguish as Michael did indescribable things to him might have probably been the worst experience while he was in there.

But that didn't mean that it was a walk in the park when Lucifer tortured him. Not at all…

He used so many methods, mainly ones that caused the most unbearable pain possible, and some that Sam didn't even know existed. There were meat hooks, fire, so much fire, knives and much more, as the Devil agonizingly slowly took him apart, bone by bone, limb by limb, skinned him alive, then put him back together, just to start over again.

And yet, all of that horrible torture was _nothing_ compared to what he had to go through the second time he entered Hell. He never broke, not once, while the Devil himself played with his body, but this time, Sam wasn't sure if he could keep going. Not again. Not anymore…

* * *

His heart was pounding in his chest, making him paranoid, because what if they would hear it? What if they'd find him? What if his plan would fail?

Sam took a deep breath to calm his nerves, while leaning against the unnaturally warm stone wall. He was going to be fine. The mission would go smoothly, all he needed to do was find Bobby, get him out of here, meet the reaper at the right place and time, and done. Yeah, child's play.

He let out a shaky sigh, closed his eyes for a few seconds while gathering his courage, and when he opened them, his mind was set. Sam took off his watch and placed it on the pillar closest to the hidden hole leading to Purgatory, before glancing from left to right and stepping into the dim light of Hell's corridor.

It was long and rather dark, stinking of blood and vomit and sulfur. This Hell was different from the Cage he was in, the sudden rush of bad memories making him stop in his tracks. Flashing images of fire, a wicked grin and a hearty laughter crossed his mind, but Sam forced them down, back to where they came from, to the ever growing pile of unwanted dark crap he's been keeping buried deep in his mind.

With clenched fists, he began walking down the corridor filled with tormented souls, either hanging from chains on the walls, or holding onto their cell bars, howling and crying in misery. Many were mutilated, some beyond recognition, with their eyes sawn shut, limbs missing or replaced with other things, burnt all over, creating humanesque monsters. It was a sick joke, a twisted freak show for the demons' entertainment.

Sam felt the odd urge to stop and gape at the poor souls, but kept walking instead, holding his gaze straight so he wouldn't let himself be distracted. He knew most people deserved what was happening to them, while others were either victims or unlucky fools, selling their souls for money and fame without thinking of the consequences. But it wasn't like Sam could have done anything about it; he couldn't and wouldn't risk getting caught by trying to set the innocent ones free. He didn't even know which of these men and women were the real sinners.

So he kept going, walking further down the sometimes blood soaked path, feeling as if the walls were closing around him, an impending doom slowly descending on him. The uncanny feeling only intensified as he neared the end of the corridor, his body becoming tense and oversensitive to any sound or gust of imaginary wind that was too hot and brought the smell of death and suffering with it.

Finally, as he reached a three-way intersection, he noticed his old friend in a cell, staring at a wall and, even though Sam couldn't see his face, judging from the way his shoulders were slouching and head slightly hanging, he seemed grumpy, tired and probably fed up with this whole Hell situation. Sam could understand—this place had the potential to render any human miserable.

But unfortunately, before he could have said or done anything, his vision of Bobby was blocked by a demon holding what seemed to be a Hell version of a wrench. Sam cursed, grabbing his demon-killing knife, and held it up in a threatening way as he took a step back. He hoped he could lead the demon away from Bobby's cell, far enough from the intersection where other demons might notice them, then knife the son of a bitch. And his plan was going so well, the grinning demon following him until Sam stopped, grinned right back at the black eyed abomination, and was about to disarm him, when he saw those black eyes glancing behind him. It was just for a second, maybe even less, but the demon clearly looked at something behind Sam, and the hunter had an unnerving feeling that he knew exactly why. But it was too late. As he tried to duck, to dodge the inevitable attack coming from behind, he accidentally slammed into one of the cages, and suddenly found himself in the grasps of a confused soul, shrieking and clawing at Sam's arms and chest while the two demons stood in front of him, grinning a wicked grin.

In a moment of panic, Sam began to struggle, thrashing around in the soul's grasp and obtaining a few cuts and bruises from the never-ending clawing. Meanwhile, the demons just watched, waiting for the hunter to stop moving, and when he finally did and made eye contact with those black eyes, he felt his blood run cold. There he was, trapped and unable to move, needing help when he was supposed to be the one saving Bobby.

He gripped the handle of the demon-killing knife, knowing that whining about his situation and feeling sorry for himself wouldn't help at all, then in a swift motion, plunged the blade into the soul's hand. It let out a deafening howl of pain and immediately let go of Sam, who charged forward and lashed out with the knife, slashing at the surprised demons. They jumped back, the one holding the nightmare wrench lifting the thing up and trying to block Sam's attacks with it, while the other, unarmed one, closed his hands into fists and threw some pretty accurate punches at the hunter. The odds were against him, but then again, he was Sam freaking Winchester and he sure as hell wouldn't go down without a fight. He managed to cut and slice at the punching demon's fists and arms, missing his chest by a few inches as the wrench handling demon knocked his knife out of his hand.

Sam took a step back, thinking for a split second, then as realization hit him, he quickly pulled out the strange, crafted blade he found in Purgatory, and grinned at the demons.

"I won't go down that easily," he said, glaring at the demons and daring them to attack, to try and beat him.

And maybe it was the severe, dangerous look in his eyes, or the graveness of his voice, or the fact that it was Sam Winchester they were up against, but the demons hesitated. They glanced at each other, slowly and unsurely, then back at the hunter.

He couldn't help but smile, feeling a bit proud of himself at that moment, but that didn't mean he'd go back on his words. So, Sam stepped forward and, taking the demons off guard, he stabbed one of them in the chest, not missing this time.

He could have waited for the demons to make up their minds and let him go or continue fighting, but he wasn't going to risk it. And even if, by some chance, the demons truly were going to let him go just like that, he would still end up killing them because, well, they were demons. And he was glad he chose to pull off such a surprise attack, because now he had to deal with one less demon, the one in front of him falling to his knees as the knife slid out of him.

Sam turned to the other demon, the one holding the wrench, and cocked his head. "You should have run."

The demon blinked, glancing from his kneeling comrade to Sam, then at the weapon in his hands, but didn't move. Seemed like he wasn't going down without a fight either, and Sam would have respected that if his opponent weren't a sulfuric, black-eyed demon.

"No," the demon stated, gripping the wrench and raising it as a thin lipped smile crossed his face. " _You_ should have."

Then he knocked the wrench against one of the cell bars once, twice, three times, and his smile turned into a menacing grin. Sam didn't understand what was going on at first, why the demon looked so proud of himself all of a sudden, until he heard the couple of dozen creaking sounds of heavy and old metallic doors opening.

"Damn it," Sam cursed loudly as all the cell doors around him opened, letting the mutilated souls wander outside, disoriented and confused, moaning in sorrow and agony and heading right towards him. At least those who could still see.

The demon's malicious laughter filled the corridor as he raised the wrench in the air, then yelled, "Get him! The one who kills him first is free!"

A deadly silence weighed him down, seconds ticking away as the tension rose, all the tortured souls frozen still and staring at him. Then as if an inaudible bell has been rung, they all started moving at the same time, a wave of tormented souls rushing at him as if their lives depended on it.

Being attacked from both sides by a swarm of people, and seeing no possible way out aside from starting to _slice_ his way through them with the knife, Sam had no other choice but to raise his knife and run towards his doom.

Only later did he realize that the demon never actually wanted him dead. No, he waited for the souls to weaken Sam enough for him to land a surprise attack from behind, one that the hunter never saw coming since he was way too busy trying to Moses his way through the huge amount of wailing people. Sam was just trying to peel a woman's fingers off his arm, while also doing a great job at slicing some poor soul's jaw off by accident, when the demon hit him in the back of his head. At first, he felt dazed and confused, finally managing to get the fingers off by cutting the woman's hand off, and stumbled forward before turning around and expecting to see another pitiful soul trying to get to him.

But instead of a weak soul, he found himself toe-to-toe with the demon, and he only had a moment to realize that he majorly screwed up, before he was swallowed by darkness as the sharp end of the wrench connected with his head, one last time…

 **~...~**

Sam woke up on a damp floor, with a killer headache. He groaned, rubbing his forehead, then suddenly felt a sharp pain at the side of his head that made him hiss and frown.

Sitting up slowly, Sam blinked and looked around, his heart sinking and his mouth turning dry as a sudden rush of panic filled him. He crawled backwards, until his back was pressed against the stone wall. A voice in the back of his head tried to reassure and calm him, thinking logically and coming up with a plan, but Sam was unable to focus on the silent, whisper-like voice, as all he could hear was his too quick heartbeat.

He swallowed dryly, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair, but he wasn't going to break down. He took a deep breath, kept it in for a few seconds, then let it out as he closed his eyes. He needed to calm down, he couldn't afford panicking right now, or that would mean losing. Sam licked his chapped lips as he looked around the cell he was put in.

It was small, probably around 6ft x 6ft, with a metal door at the end, which had a small window with metal bars. It was dark, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the gloomy darkness, making him realize what that heavy feeling around his ankles were. Of course, he was shackled. He patted his chest and pants, but it seemed that the demon was smart enough to raid him from all of his weapons.

"Why does everything have to go to shit, every single goddamn time?" Sam sighed, leaning his head against the wall.

He didn't know what to do, truly being out of ideas this time around. He had no other choice but to wait, for something or someone, with his weapons gone and being locked in a cell, in Hell. He was also cuffed, though at least his wrists were free, so if he found anything useful lying around he could, maybe, come up with something.

There was also Dean, waiting for him, but there was only one problem with that. Time in Hell went by way faster than in the human realm, meaning that Sam was pretty much on his own.

He tried not to let all of that get to him though, because he was a strong man, both body and soul, and he would be damned if he'd let himself be broken by Hell. Not after surviving so many years in the Cage, with Lucifer using him as his own person chew toy.

So he remained emotionless as the door creaked open, but couldn't stop the frown on his face as a demon stepped into the little cell, and smirked down at him, that pompous son of a bitch.

"I should have known…" Sam scoffed, narrowing his eyes as he glared at the demon, his black suit looking new and immaculate as always, going with his shiny black shoes, and it took everything Sam had not to reach over to somehow gather and sweep some dust on his ever-so-perfect attire.

"Nice to see you too, Moose. I have to say, prison isn't doing wonders for your skin." The king of Hell chuckled, looking the pissed off hunter over before nodding to a demon next to him. "Anyway, I'm only here to enlighten you on your not-so-bright future. In a short twenty or so years, you won't be the same Sam Winchester anymore, I can guarantee you that."

"What a joke." Sam laughed incredulously, slowly getting up and taking a few steps forward before the chains stopped him. He glared down at the smaller man, or demon, and grinned defiantly. "I won't break, we both know that. And anyway, I'm going to get out of here, one way or another, and sooner than later."

Crowley returned the grin, before taking a step backwards and taking a hold of the door handle. "No, Samantha. I'm afraid that with the torture session I've put together especially for you…you won't even last ten years."

And with that, he shut the door, and was gone. Sam stared at the metal door for a while longer, before rubbing his face and sighing hopelessly. He was still confident that he wouldn't break, that he'd survive whatever was thrown at him, but that didn't mean he also knew how to get out of this shithole. He just hoped he could somehow communicate with Dean, or with someone, to send a message…

That was when it hit him, that he could do just that.

"Castiel!" Sam smiled, glancing at the ceiling. He knew that the angel was busy, on the run from Naomi and her gang, all the while trying to keep the Angel Tablet safe, but maybe, if he was lucky, he'd listen.

Sam really hoped that his message would get through, that Hell wouldn't interfere, or that it was actually possible to even pray to angels from such a diseased place like this. He wouldn't be too surprised if there was nobody listening to prayers coming from Hell, from sinners asking for forgiveness when it was already too late.

But since hope died last, he knelt down and closed his eyes, then started praying.

 **—**

He really hoped that his plan wouldn't go south.

Dean glanced at the watch on his wrist for the umpteenth time as he stood in the woods, waiting for his brother to emerge from the portal leading to Purgatory. When he found out that the rogue reaper they asked to guide Sam to and back from that nightmarish place crawling with monsters was dead in his car, Dean might have suffered from a slight panic attack. He cursed everyone and everything, immediately thinking the worst and worrying about his little brother, who has never set foot to Purgatory before, and it wasn't like his confusing and paranoia driven descriptions of the place could have helped him survive in there.

So he had to ask his friend to do him a huge favor. And Dean expected an argument, a look of surprise or shock, disbelief and sorrow, but instead all he got was acceptance. That didn't make his job any easier, though, as he had to _cut off_ his friend's head in order to send him back to the place they've been trying so hard to escape from.

He could still remember the struggle, all those nights spent hunting in the shadows, covered in blood and fearing for their lives, as predator could become prey from one moment to the next, attacked from behind. It could have been over so quickly, one set of jaws snapping at their necks, a blade silently piercing the flesh, a shriek or howl before complete darkness. But that endless darkness never came, the only thing that stayed being the continuous reminder of death hovering above them as they took the monsters' lives, becoming the very things they hunted in the process. Benny was a vampire to begin with, so the change wasn't that obvious; he just used his fangs a bit more often, oddly enjoying the taste of his victims' blood dripping from his fingers.

On Dean, it was more visible. Benny never pointed it out, but when they met up with the angel, it was one of the first things he mentioned, how Dean looked as if he aged tens of years, his expression hardening, and the occasional smiles on his face seeming more wicked and twisted. Dean knew, but didn't care, not giving a rat's ass about the way his hair stuck together from dried blood that also covered most of his clothes, which he never really bothered to wash in the river. It didn't matter to him, because hunting like this, so freely, felt pure and right, as if somehow he managed to get in touch with his more primal, natural self. It was sort of liberating, and also fucking great.

But all that was behind him. It happened, he remembered every gory detail, but he was a changed man. He wasn't the paranoid, jumpy hunter who saw figures lurking in the shadows from the corner of his eye and heard stealthy footsteps of beasts stalking behind him. No, not anymore, and he could thank his brother for that. Being back in the family business, hunting and saving people, doing good while also trying to close the gates of Hell really took his mind off of things.

And now, his little brother was stuck in Purgatory, without the knowledge of a way out, and it was all Dean could do not to find a way to go back to that putrid place, grab his brother and drag him out of there himself. But that would do more bad than good, so his only choice was to lean against a tree and wait, hoping that Benny managed to find Sam and that he'd see his little brother emerging from the other side any minute now.

The only problem was that he beheaded Benny an hour ago, and Sam was still nowhere.

 **~...~**

It was later that night, when another two hours have passed, that Dean became seriously concerned, nervous and fucking petrified. Sam was still MIA, even after he sent his vampire friend in, who was an expert in getting the hell out of Purgatory, which could have only meant bad, really bad news.

"Shit, shit, fuck!" Dean growled, punching a tree hard enough to hear a crack coming from his knuckles, followed by a burning pain and even though it was dark outside, he could have sworn he saw blood. But he couldn't care less at the moment, and as he clenched his bleeding fist, Dean took off to his car while fishing out his phone from his pocket with his good hand, dialing Castiel's number.

Because even angels needed cell phones, especially ones that could be easily compared to a lost, mentally deficient puppy.

Dean waited as it rang, once, twice, many times, but the angel never answered. Suppressing the urge to hurl the phone against a conveniently placed tree, he quickly got behind the wheel and started the engine, driving straight back to the motel. There, he got out as soon as possible, without actually jumping out of a still moving car, and rushed into the room, immediately running to a duffel bag sitting in the corner. He and Sam rarely used its contents, except for when they were up against demons or, on the contrary, wanted something from a particular demon, that bag being their demon kit, in a way.

If he couldn't reach Heaven, he'd raise Hell.

Dean pulled out the bowl and a few other things from the bag, before setting them down on the floor, then went back to looking through the bag for other useful objects. When he finally got everything he needed, Dean reached for his lighter, and even though he always managed to light it on the first try, this time he just couldn't seem to do it.

"Damn it, work you piece of shit!" Dean snapped, nearly knocking the bowl filled with important powders and plants over. He knew that he needed to calm down, think straight and clear his mind, but no matter how much he tried to stay neutral, it seemed as if his whole world was coming crashing down, as if he was four years old again, but this time, instead of losing his mother, he was losing Sam. Again.

They have done so many things for each other, sacrificed everything in order to save the other, that this shouldn't have affected Dean so deeply. But it did. He might have sold his soul for Sam, his little brother might have gone to Hell for him, then came back soulless. He might have made a deal with Death to get Sam's soul back, and then he might have gone to Purgatory for the greater good, but all of that meant nothing if he was alone. Dean couldn't let that happen, couldn't survive without his brother and he couldn't leave Sam in Purgatory where he knew what horrors awaited his unprepared little brother, not while he was out here, safe and sound.

He took a deep breath, tried and failed at calming down, then crouched down and, as he finally managed to get the lighter to work, completed the summoning ritual.

"I really hope for your own good," the annoying voice said, "that I'm here because you finally decided to give me the other piece of the Tablet. You know, I deserve it. I was voted the Best Boss of the Underworld, by me."

"Shut your mouth, Crowley." Dean stood up but only managed to take one step towards the smirking demon before he stopped, an invisible force holding him in place, like thousands of tiny wires wrapped around his body.

"Squirrel, I'm disappointed. But I guess Dumb truly is brainless, without his Dumber," the King of Hell said with a scornful chuckle, flicking his wrist and sending the hunter flying back, and earning a frustrated grunt from him as his back was pressed against the wall.

Dean would have had hundreds of witty comebacks for that sly bastard, but Crowley was right, about one thing. He was so worried, let his fear for his brother blind him, that he forgot to draw a devil's trap before summoning the King of Dick Bags. He couldn't stop the irritated growl from escaping his throat as he glared daggers at the demon, watching him as he closed the small distance between them, then picked up a knife from the table.

"Dean, Dean, Dean…You _do know_ that I could kill you now, right? End your suffering and all the other shit that's about to come. Because I know, unlike you, the end of this story," he said with a low chuckle, tapping the edge of the knife against his own chin. "It will only get so much worse for you. I'm offering you an out, Winchester, a once in a lifetime deal. You don't want to know what's at the end of this road, trust me, because I took care of that personally. Nothing…" Crowley whispered, his breath stinking of sulfur, death and terrifying promises, "will be the same from this point on. Are you ready to accept, and live, with that fact, Dean Winchester?"

Dean had a horrible, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as those words sunk in, making him realize something he hoped with all his might wouldn't happen. "You son of a bitch… You've got Sam. He's not in Purgatory, he's in Hell!" Dean growled through gritted teeth, straining his muscles against the unyielding invisible force and, when the demon flashed a self-satisfied grin at him, he could feel himself beginning to shake in fury.

"Would you look at that, he's not as dumb as he looks, folks," Crowley scoffed, taking a few steps back and putting the knife back on the table, before dusting off his blacker than usual suit. "Yes, I've got your precious little brother, and I have him in the safest place imaginable, somewhere you'll never find him by yourself. And with your angel boyfriend on the run from angelic conspiracies, and all your friends dead or useless, I truly doubt you'd get to your Moose in time. Time to face the facts: your brother's burning in my Hell, and there's nothing you can do about it."

And with that, he was gone just as quickly as he came, taking the force that held Dean down with him.

He managed not to collapse on the floor as the force was lifted from him, and it felt like he could breathe freely again, the tension in his limbs disappearing. But at the same time, a new feeling overtook him, that of dread and fear. He now at least knew what happened to Sam, where he was being held and by whom, but just like that sleazeball had said—he couldn't do anything about it. Castiel wasn't picking up his phone, and even if he would, he couldn't risk entering Hell now, with a whole army of angels on his tail. He couldn't ask anybody else, aside from Benny, who he already sent to Purgatory for apparently nothing, and Kevin.

That gave him an idea. Kevin had the important part of the Tablet, so what if there was something else written on it, aside from the Trials? Those could wait, Dean seriously couldn't be bothered with the Trials right now, and if he could convince Kevin to give everything he's got into finding something on the Tablet on how to break into Hell undetected, that'd be worth any and all sacrifices.

He rubbed his eyes, and only just realized how much his hands were shaking. Dean knew he was angry, fucking terrified, anxious and restless, but wouldn't have thought his feelings would have physical consequences. He glanced at Sam's bed and his heart sank, but knowing that he couldn't afford to be emotional right now, with his little brother probably being tortured in Hell even at this very moment, Dean clenched his jaw and grabbed the side of the table until his hands stopped shaking. Then took out his phone and called Kevin.

"Yeah?" a tired, exhausted voice asked on the other end of the line.

Kevin must have been working day and night, trying to translate the broken off part of the Tablet, and Dean was about to tell him to stop, that it was all for nothing, and tell him to start looking for something else, right away. He felt sorry for the kid, but he simply didn't have the luxury to be compassionate, not now.

"Kevin, it's Dean. Listen, you've gotta stop whatever you're doing and look for a way to break into Hell with the help of the Tablet, or—"

"Whoa, whoa slow down! Are you trying to tell me to _stop_ trying to figure out how to close the Gates of Hell forever, and instead start searching for…what again?" Kevin asked incredulously, and Dean knew this wasn't going to be easy.

"Sam is stuck in Hell," he dropped the bomb, flopping into the chair next to the table. "Crowley's got him, and you know that son of a bitch, inflecting pain on others and torture is his hobby. He…he's been there for a few hours now, which in Hell time could add up to days, or even weeks if we don't hurry up and get him out of there."

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line, before he heard Kevin's weak voice again. "Holy crap," he muttered, clearing his throat. "Okay, I get it. I'll try and look for a way to get Sam out."

"Don't just try Kevin, you better find something quick!" Dean snapped, then apologized right away, ashamed of letting his nerves get the better of him.

"It's fine…I'll do my best, Dean, I promise. But we need to think about the worst case scenario here, too," Kevin said hesitantly, letting out a long sigh. "I might not find anything on the Tablet. What then? How are we going to get Sam back?"

Dean thought about that for a moment, feeling the weight on his shoulders intensify. "I'll figure something out," he said, with a heavy heart. "I won't let my brother suffer any longer, so I don't care what it'll take, what I'll have to sacrifice or do or kill in order to get him back, because _I will get him back_."

And Dean meant it, because he was going to be damned if he wasn't going to go to the end of the world to save his brother, his family.


	2. Chapter II

A/N: Hey everyone. I'm new here and just figuring things out, so I apologize in advance if there are some things that I'm not _doing right_. Anyway, just writing here to say that I hope you'll enjoy this story, and warning you that soon there'll be quite some gore in one of the chapters. And also, while this is listed under the In Progress category, the story itself is done. And so is its sequel. And the one after that. So basically this will be a trilogy. Alright, rambling's done, and again, hope you enjoy it! :)

 **Chapter II**

His prayers were obviously left unanswered, and after a few more tries that also proved to be unsuccessful, Sam gave up on trying to contact the angel altogether. He thought he could survive alone, that he'd be able to find a way out; he was a Winchester, after all.

But it shouldn't have been this hard.

Sam couldn't have been sure, but he thought that he's been in Hell for at least a month or two now. Time was different here, so even if Dean was looking for him by now, it wouldn't have really made any difference.

He had to hand it to Crowley—the demon really outdid himself. The first few days were still bearable, with demons visiting his cell more often than not, and bringing all sorts of different objects they could use to inflict the worst kinds of pain on Sam. They cut at his flesh, peeled it away agonizingly slowly, ignoring his pained groans and screams. He tried, the best he could, not to give them the satisfaction to hear him scream, but when the demons started slicing him open and pulling his bones out, one by one, he couldn't stay silent anymore and screamed at the top of his lungs.

These torture sessions didn't last too long at first, but then gradually became longer and longer, until Sam felt like he never had a moment of peace, the demons switching places after a while to be able to keep tormenting him nonstop. They crucified him upside down and bled him out, pulled him apart, poured seething acid in his eyes, nose and down his throat, which resulted in him throwing up his insides. At one point, the demons even made a game out of who could dismember him faster, using only hammers.

But Sam wasn't a hunter by title only. He fought them, even though he knew he didn't stand a chance, but he wasn't going to let those sons of bitches use him, see him as a mere plaything, like any other lost victim who they could torture freely. He managed to land a few punches, kick their legs out from under them and once, when he was left alone, even succeeded in drawing a devil's trap on the relatively low ceiling of his cell with his own blood. He did have to bite into his wrist which was a rather painful method, but seeing the look on the demons' faces was worth it.

They abused, mutilated and played with his body, in hopes of leaving nothing but an empty shell of a man. But they never succeeded, with their whips and chains, because Sam Winchester was a man who had survived Hell before, and the time he spent in the Cage with the Devil himself had been way worse than what he was experiencing here.

At least, at first.

It was when one of the demons that seemed to enjoy hurting him the most opened his cell door with an unnaturally wide grin on its face, and waltzed in, that Sam had the terrifying feeling that things were about to change.

Sam, ever since he got stuck in Hell, never begged. He never let go of his pride and humanity, all the things that made him a hunter and _Sam Winchester_. The tortures were agonizingly painful, that much was true, but he still managed to endure as much as he could, and even more than that, pushing himself to the limit but not caring because he simply refused to be broken, not now, not like this.

He was a strong man, both physically and mentally, defiant and stubborn, but as the demon crouched down in front of him and flicked its wrist, rendering Sam motionless, then raised a knife, the proud hunter found himself begging.

Because he knew what that meant.

"No, no, no, you can't do this!" Sam yelled, his voice shaking as he watched the demon, with wide eyes, press the knife against its wrist and cut a line on the thin layer of skin, which broke so easily, giving way to the crimson blood, to the liquid poison that was Sam's doom and salvation.

"Oh, but I can. And I will. Heard you had a nice little weak spot for our blood, Winchester…" The demon chuckled, putting the knife on the floor as it leaned forward, those black eyes and predatory grin on its face just frightening Sam even more.

Shaking his head and clenching his jaw so much that it hurt, Sam watched in horror as the demon grabbed his chin, then forced his mouth open with its powers, before shoving its bleeding wrist against his lips, its free hand moving from his chin to his hair and grabbing it forcefully to tilt his head back. Sam let out a pitiful groan, refusing to swallow the warm blood, but as his air supply was sudden cut off by the demon, he had no choice but to start breathing through his mouth, and to do that, he had to get rid of what was in there. He would have loved nothing more than to simply spit the blood in the demon's face, and it wasn't like he could have suffocated and died in Hell anyway, but as he began feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen, his bodily reflexes kicked in and, unfortunately, he immediately swallowed the thick, venomous honey.

He gasped, coughing and sputtering, desperately trying to get rid of every last bit of blood he swallowed, but it was pointless. It was already gone, and Sam could feel its effects kicking in…

It had been such a long time since he last tasted demon blood, and he didn't miss its taste. At least, that's what he hoped he'd think, which wasn't the case, at all. He felt nostalgic, the blood a warm pool in his stomach, a familiar and welcoming sensation that made him relax, clouding his mind and judgment. It was just like riding a bike, he suddenly remembered his time with Ruby, all the fun he had while high on demon blood, the surge of power he felt each time he got to taste the forbidden ichor. And even now, after so many years, it only took him a few moments before he felt the rush and high, his pupils dilating like black, hungry shadows. He licked his bloody lips, bathing in the otherworldly taste and for a while, he forgot all of his troubles, the fact that he was in Hell, and simply enjoyed the warm feeling.

But it didn't last as long as Sam wanted it to, and the world came crashing down all of a sudden, the high gone just as quickly as it came, leaving him groaning for more, like a junkie. And as soon as his mind cleared enough for him to think straight and rationally again, he quickly snapped out of his daze, blinking repeatedly and looking around in confusion.

The demon laughed in his face, then stood up and, without even saying a word, as if Sam wasn't worthy enough now that he's let the corrupted, fucked up side of him be seen, walked out of the room and left him alone to stew in his own juices. It took him a minute or two to fully realize what had just happened, and when everything sank in, Sam felt a horrible ache in his chest, would have given anything to turn back time and stop himself from giving in, from letting the blood into his mouth, past his lips.

But it was already too late, he knew that all too well, since from the moment he swallowed the crimson drug, it started an irreversible process. Even now that he calmed down, he could feel the humid air around him, hear the wails echoing through the corridors and smell the mix of blood, sweat and tears so much better. He felt stronger, more alive and aware than ever, but knew that these were just honey coated lies. That, if he was to remove everything seemingly positive, he'd find the ugly truth hiding under the reassuring blanket of lies. The hideous thing that was addiction, that made him crave just a little bit more, secretly enjoying the darkest and most fucked up shit, like drinking straight from a demon, holding its body down. Or like the way its struggle ceased when there wasn't enough blood left in its body to fight any longer, something that always managed to bring a bloody smile to Sam's face.

Even now, he could still taste the blood in his mouth, and he closed his eyes against his better judgment, relishing in the taste of that forbidden liquid. He felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine and Sam smiled, a twisted and so very messed up smile as his body slumped, finally feeling at peace. He knew, deep down, that he shouldn't be feeling that way, that he should feel disgusted, that this was only a momentary feeling and that it'd pass as soon as the demon blood would leave his system, but he couldn't be bothered right now. He would enjoy this brief moment, and then forget about it, as if it never happened. Sam was good at forgetting things.

After that day, he didn't see the demon ever again, but he sure as hell saw parts of it. Its blood, to be exact.

Truth to be told, he didn't have a clue whose blood it was. But it was demon blood, and that was the only thing that mattered.

His torture sessions continued, however instead of demons, there were only two men carrying out his never-ending punishments, none of them creatures of evil. In fact, the first time they appeared in Sam's cell's doorway, they disclosed that they were actually rogue reapers.

"What happened to the demons?" Sam asked, his voice hoarse and weak, though not really caring about what happened to those assholes.

"Can't let any more demons get close to you," said one of the reapers, the other one adding, "King's orders."

And at first, Sam didn't understand why Crowley would suddenly ban demons from 'visiting' him, but when he saw what one of the reapers was carrying, his blood ran cold, making him forget to breathe for a few seconds.

Noticing the hunter's shocked expression, the reaper glanced at the bucket in its hand, and smirked. "Oh, this? Yes, I guess this is the reason…"

The first time the demon forced its sulfuric blood down Sam's throat, he was still rebellious. He knew he wouldn't give in, not to the temptation, or to the pain. But after the reapers held him down and made him drink the many buckets of demon blood, day after day, all the while never stopping mutilating him, body and soul, Sam wasn't sure if he could take it anymore.

Now, after approximately three weeks of constant blood infusions or bottles he could drink from, and torments that he secretly came to enjoy, Sam was lying on the uncomfortably warm floor, shivering and scraping his nails on the rough surface of the stone wall. He tried not to—albeit usually couldn't even if he wanted to—think about how much of a failure he was, cursing himself for not being able to take what Hell threw at him. And that was probably the worst. That actually, whatever physical or mental tortures he received, he never once broke, not here, or in the Cage. It was the blood which, in the end, became his demise, that damned him to the deepest pits of Hell, and he knew he deserved everything he got.

His self-hatred grew each day, knowing that if his big brother were here, then maybe he could have been strong enough, Dean capable of giving him that little, one last push to be able to surpass his addiction. But he wasn't here, and Sam felt lost, only finding comfort in the way the warm blood ran down his parched throat, filling him with life, a new kind of life, that he didn't even know existed.

Sam Winchester was reduced to that desperate junkie he was many years ago, living only for the next drop of blood.

The door opened, catching the exhausted hunter by surprise and making him look up at the reaper in a daze. He slowly sat up, licking his lips in anticipation, ready for another fill, while trying not to think about how messed up he was for it.

But the reaper only smiled, holding up its empty hands. "Sorry buddy, I ain't got nothing for you today. However, the King has a little…surprise for you," it said as it walked to the hunter, then crouched down and unlocked the shackles around Sam's ankles, surprising the man once again.

"What's going on?" he asked, coughing weakly as he rubbed his aching ankles, too tired to even think of an escape plan now that he was finally out of the cuffs. He just wanted his next shot, his next bottle of crimson medicine, he just fucking _needed_ it.

"Follow me, and you'll see," was all the reaper muttered, before standing up straight and walking out of the cell.

Sam looked around in confusion, gripping his shaking hands, then after a moment of hesitation, went after the reaper. It was a bad idea, but under the influence of the demon blood, Sam couldn't think straight. A little, low voice in the back of his head was yelling at him, ordering him to snap out of it and make a run for it, this being the perfect time to escape. But at the same time, if he were to get out of here, if he really would have managed to pull it off, he could say goodbye to the precious blood forever, because Dean wouldn't let him drink any, wouldn't understand how liberating swallowing the warm evil was, and how excruciating it was, to have it taken away from him.

Sam remembered when he was locked in Bobby's panic room, remembered his conversation with Dean. He knew it then and now, that his brother would never understand how it truly felt like, this uncontrollable addiction, sinister and dark, just enough to be incredible. And his addiction wasn't normal either, because ever since he was a small child, he had something so purely evil inside him, that even after all of these years, he could still feel it, from time to time. Be it passing thoughts, sudden urges or suppressed smiles, Sam knew, that those weren't normal behaviors.

And as he followed the reaper, while glancing from left to right like a true paranoid junkie, Sam came to the realization that he might never go back to the way he was before. That if he was to continue down this dark path, he might as well say goodbye to his brother, to Kevin, to Castiel, because if any of them would ever see him like this, there'd be no way they'd take him back.

That thought, Dean abandoning him, stopped him dead in his tracks and for a moment, his mind was clear, ridden from all the demon blood influence.

"Dean…" he whispered, his eyes unfocused as he stared ahead, then as if waking up from a long, horrible dream, Sam took a few steps back, and was about to run for his freaking life, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Moose, we're nearly there. Don't puss out now," the King of Hell said from behind him, startling Sam, and as he turned around, he found himself face to face with his captor, wanting to do nothing more than to kick the man in the nuts and get the hell out of here.

"You know where you can shove your little plan, Crowley," Sam spat, snarling at the grinning demon, and just when he was about to use his newly gained powers on the dick-bag, the reaper behind him cuffed his hands behind his back, making the hunter growl in frustration.

"Iron shackles specifically made for you, Jolly Green." Crowley winked, followed by a deep chuckle, before he nodded at the other end of the corridor they were initially heading to, Sam having no other choice but to curse the demon in his head and go after him, even if that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Sighing, Sam kept his head low as he followed the asshole and his loyal pet reaper, trying to block out the sound of pumping blood coming from Crowley. He was a demon too, after all, and since they had Sam hooked on blood again, it proved to be pretty hard to ignore that sickeningly sweet smell coming from the demon, and the urge to sink his teeth into the other's thick neck, the thought of the way his warm blood could run down his throat and then lay snugly in his stomach making Sam shudder. He quickly closed his eyes, forcing himself to take deep breaths because he'd rather die than start fantasizing about _Crowley's_ foul blood.

And as they suddenly reached a large set of wooden doors, stopping in front of it, he began questioning his life choices. He really didn't want to move, to keep on walking, especially when the doors opened, revealing what lay ahead, and making Sam's stomach sink.

"Welcome to my personalized arena. I'm telling you, Caesar had the right idea." Crowley laughed, pushing the unmoving hunter into the sandy area, before simply disappearing.

Sam swallowed thickly, looking around and watching in dread as the doors closed by themselves behind him. He jumped a little, already being a bit twitchy from the lack of demon blood, as the cuffs fell from his hands. He still didn't move, didn't dare to, but curiosity getting the better of him, he began walking and what he saw left him breathless.

Crowley really had a fucking Colosseum in Hell.

The whole place was covered in sand, making Sam wonder how deep the actual ground was as he made his way further into the round Colosseum, surprised it was in an enclosed space, and that the demon didn't use his privileges and powers to somehow make the place look more realistic, with a few clouds and a blue sky. Not that the structure didn't look realistic enough, quite the opposite, actually. It looked exactly like the ones from movies, and Crowley must have consulted a demon from that period of time, because the engravings on the many pillars holding the seating area seemed way too precise and detailed.

He was surrounded by walls and pillars, the only surface that wasn't covered by the arena straight out of a the Roman Empire being the set of doors he came through, which were conveniently locked and somehow gained several metal bars blocking the doors and making it impossible for Sam to escape, if he dared to get even the slightest idea of making a run for it. So, seeing no other choice but to go along with whatever Crowley had planned for him, and hoping that it didn't involve fighting lions, Sam took a few steps forward, walking to the middle of the arena.

Now that he got closer, he noticed how the whole place was packed with demons, their black eyes looming over him like millions of tiny promises of death and suffering. Their piercing black eyes weren't the only thing that helped Sam identify them, as the overwhelming smell was what hit him first. The second he stepped through those doors, he could smell them, the overpowering aroma of demon blood making him stupefied for a brief moment; however he did his best to suppress his needs, his urge to somehow climb the pillars and get to the demons. And now that the cuffs were off, he could have done it, just rip their throats out and drink from the gaping hole, the mere thought of it sending shudders across his body.

But he didn't, and not only because he was still lying to himself, trying to convince himself that he could still turn back, that he wasn't a junkie, that it was just a matter of time and he could be cured, but also because he was curious as to what the King was playing at here. And no matter how satisfying it would have been to ruin the demon's fun, Sam wanted to know what all the drama and preparation was for.

"Ladies and not so gentle men," Sam heard Crowley's smug booming voice coming from the area where senators and the important people usually sat, as he addressed the crowd. "I am overjoyed to announce our first gladiator fight!"

The crowd went crazy, shouting and yelling at the top of their lungs, while Sam just stood there, confused and nervous, wanting nothing more than to just disappear. His nervousness and discomfort was soon overpowered by something else though, a feeling so strong that it left him dizzy for a few seconds. And that feeling was hunger.

It had been too long, _way too fucking long_ , since he had his fix, and even though he could manage to hold himself together while they made their way to the arena, now the withdrawal was starting to get to him in a more forceful, indescribable way, as if a slimy hand made out of pure darkness and evil was reaching for his heart, for his lungs, with its sole purpose being to destroy.

"Shit…" Sam mumbled, rubbing his face with shaking hands as he felt a sudden wave of nausea hit him and nearly sweep him off his feet. His ears began to ring, the shouting of the demons intensifying and echoing in his eardrums, as if he was underwater. The hair on his arms stood on end, his skin suddenly becoming oversensitive, while his vision blurred, the colors standing out with the white marble pillars being too white, too intense, and Sam felt like he would pass out any second now, he really did, but then it all stopped.

All of his senses focused on one thing, a little jar at the end of the arena, held by a demon as a man entered next to him.

"Today, we will be witnessing a battle between our most favorite hunter, Sam Winchester…and his brother, Dean!" Crowley shouted, the crowd standing up and clapping enthusiastically.

That made Sam snap out of it. His eyes widened as he looked at the two men at the end of the arena, but there was no sign of his brother. One of the men was a demon, he was sure of it, he could smell him and the jar of demon blood he was holding in his hands, however he wasn't too sure about the other man. Sam couldn't smell him, and the fact that this actually bothered him—that he couldn't _smell_ someone—proved just how fucked up he was. He narrowed his eyes, slowly and a bit hesitantly walking closer to the people at the far end, not thinking of how much he wanted to simply rush over and tear at the demon's throat with his teeth, when Crowley spoke again.

"Samantha!" he said, gaining the confused hunter's attention. "Let's play a little game, shall we?"

Sam would have gladly told Crowley to go and screw himself instead, but not trusting his voice at the moment, he settled for glaring at him, hoping that the anger reflecting in his eyes would help convey his feelings for the demon. And it must have worked, because the next moment Crowley was chuckling, a nasty grin spreading across his face.

"That's what I thought. Now, here are the rules: there are no rules," he stated, the crowd of overexcited demons cheering at nearly everything their king said, however they soon shut up and calmed down when Crowley made a hand motion meaning something horrible and possibly traumatizing, as he wasn't one who liked to be interrupted. Demon loved hearing the sound of his own voice. "As I was saying," he drawled, "there are no rules, only outcomes. Results. See, I don't _actually_ have your dear brother with me, though I admit that would have been way more fun to watch. But, beggars choosers, I have bigger plans. I want you to kill this shapeshifter in front of you." Crowley motioned towards the man at the other end of the arena, the one Sam couldn't identify.

Sam had nothing against killing a monster, but he had to wonder what Crowley was getting out of it, what he really wanted, so after clearing his throat and hoping his voice wouldn't fail him, he asked, "And if I don't?"

"Then, I'll keep on sending people to torture you, all the while making sure that they bring a nice little jar of demon blood with them, just like the one you can see in front of you. And they won't let you taste any of it, ever. What do you think, how miserable, unbearable would that be? Could be one of my best tortures yet."

It was at that point that Sam would have loved to be able to use one of the angels' powers, flying in particular, and use it to get to the demon and stab a blade through his rotten heart. Damn, he hated that bastard with a passion.

"However," Crowley continued, "you will obtain that jar full of goodies if you do kill him. Your call, gladiator."

Sam clenched his jaw, his mind swirling with thoughts of right and wrong as he glanced at the demon holding the jar, then at the shapeshifter, who was now walking towards the center of the arena, and towards Sam. And as he watched the monster, Sam saw its wicked grin as it looked him over, then like a poisonous serpent, the shapeshifter shed its skin, changing right in front of the hunter's eyes while never stopping his advance.

When it came to a stop merely a few steps from Sam, he wasn't staring into a monster's eyes anymore, but into his big brother's green ones, making it hard to decide who the hunter and hunted were here, at this moment.

"Fun little trick, isn't it?" The monster winked, speaking with Dean's voice, wearing Dean's cocky expression, and it was all so wrong because it was Dean but it wasn't Dean but Dean and just _Dean_.

Sam felt so many things at the same time, the withdrawal reducing him to pieces, to a shaking mess, and the sight of his brother making it hard for him not to just break down right here and now, even though he knew it wasn't really him. He tried his best to remain expressionless, to keep it together, but he was doomed from the second he stepped into the arena, to Hell even, so why keep on trying? It wasn't like his brother would ever forgive him, would ever accept him like this, Sam already lost him, lost everybody, had nothing, so why? And that was the real question…

What for?

Suddenly, Sam felt his eyes water, and it was as if all of his feelings, his self-control and pride, his morals and rules, his love for everything, for Dean, his compassion and all of his humanity left him with the tears, as they trickled down his cheek, leaving him sharp and hollow. The change happened so quickly, so briefly that even Sam would have been surprised, if he could feel. And he didn't know, but that was the first step towards the bigger picture; to Crowley's plan.

"Remember, no rules whatsoever! And no weapons, so come on, kick and claw, boys!" Crowley shouted. "Begin!"

Like a famished animal, caged and beaten, Sam's mind shut off as his predatory instincts took over, his more primal self surfacing and, just when Dean was about to attack, he leaped on him and went _crazy_. Not caring that the monster wore his beloved brother's face, only seeing him as a nuisance, an insignificant flesh, a mere hindrance standing between him and his precious blood, Sam pulled his fist back before punching Dean, over and over again, before the monster—no, his brother—finally realized he should fight back. He grabbed Sam's hair and used it to yank his head back, then kicked him off him. Sam growled, snarling at his brother, then kicked his shin as hard as he could; however when he got too close, Dean managed to take a hold of his arm and twist it, drawing a cry of pain from Sam.

He staggered forward, hissing in pain, but quickly tuned it out as he turned back to Dean and clenched his aching hand into a fist, before quickly kneeing him in the stomach. That taking his brother by surprise, Dean hunched over for a second, which was just enough for Sam to grab his head and bring it down on his knee, hitting him several times in the face before the other managed to escape from Sam's iron grasp, his face bloody and broken. The sight of blood only driving Sam on, as if he was a mad bull, he got too excited and didn't notice the change in his brother's posture, only when it was too late and he found himself on the ground, as Dean grabbed his waist and tackled him down into the sand like some rugby player.

Sam groaned, feeling a sharp pain at the back of his head, but he didn't have much time to contemplate on pain as Dean crawled atop him and began smashing his face into a bloody pulp with his fists. Sam tried to kick him off, to grab his wrists, but when he failed, he decided to force himself to sit up and go for the good old headbutt instead, which surprisingly worked. Dean rubbed his aching forehead, giving Sam an opening to grab him by his neck, and squeeze, a bloody grin crossing his messed up face. Dean clawed at his hands, his mouth opening and closing, and Sam was so close to killing him, finally, when Dean landed such a brutal kick to his side that Sam had no other choice but to let go, the pain too distracting. He was pretty sure one or two of his ribs were broken.

He watched in fury as Dean scrambled to his feet and disappeared from his field of vision as he walked behind him, and just when Sam was about to stand up as well, he felt an arm slide around his neck from behind and knew that he was about to get a taste of his own medicine. He grabbed Dean's arm, but didn't achieve anything as the man began strangling him, using his other hand to get a hold of one of Sam's wrists. With one hand still free, the hunter tried to grab Dean's head, grab _anything_ , but couldn't, and with the oxygen slowly leaving his brain, he began weakening. Then, as his eyes glanced around in panic, Sam noticed the demon, the blood, heard his and the hundreds of demons' blood pumping in their veins, at least for those whose vessels weren't dead yet, and found the power he needed, the motivation to break his _own bones_.

He let out a loud growl, clenched his jaw and, gathering every last bit of his human and superhuman powers, smashed his free hand into the sand, shattering his bones, one of them even piercing his flesh and sticking out in an odd angle. Being able to tolerate pain while on adrenaline rush and after months of torture in Hell, Sam didn't waste a second before he jabbed his bone into Dean's arm, making him pull back immediately and give Sam a wide-eyed, incredulous look.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Sam shakily got to his feet, blood dripping from his mutilated hand, his chest heaving as he took deep, much needed breaths, and as he made eye contact with Dean, he couldn't fight down a bubble of laughter, twisted and maniacal. He sniffed, wiping his nose and seeing blood on the back of his unbroken hand, but not caring. Just like he didn't care about, did his best to ignore, the far away voice somewhere in his head, telling him, shouting at him to stop this nonsense, that there would be no coming back from what he was about to do.

Blocking the voice out for good, Sam licked his split, bloody lips and walked forward, Dean watching him intently. There was a pause of suspense from the ever cheering crowd, a silence in the air as the 'gladiators' stared at each other through bloodshot eyes. Then, they attacked one last time.

Sam got the upper hand, grabbing the back of his brother's neck and as Dean took a step back, Sam tightened his grip on his neck and pushed his head down, while ignoring the blinding pain in his other, abused hand, with which he somehow managed to grab Dean's ankle, putting him off balance. And as Dean fell, while trying to get a hold of Sam, his little brother used the fall's momentum to shove him into the sand, then used both of his hands to grab Dean's head, whacking it over and over and over against the ground, all the while never breaking eye contact, and watching as the life seeped out of his big brother's eyes.

And as he did, as he killed the shapeshifter he believed was Dean Winchester, Sam didn't feel anything.

Then, the crowd went wild.

He was panting, a sweating mess, the adrenaline gone and the pain returning. Standing up with trembling legs, Sam looked at the dead body, then at the demon grinning down at him from the Colosseum, and suddenly felt like he was going to faint. But he didn't, forced himself to stand still even though it was so hard, and watched as the demon holding the jar began walking towards him.

"Sam Winchester, everybody!" Crowley shouted as the cheers and the clapping grew louder. "The new champion… The man who kills for blood."

Sam, ignoring the rest of Crowley's speech, swallowed dryly as the demon brought him the jar, and when it got close enough, the hunter ripped it out of its hands, before quickly and hurriedly, like a starved animal, downing its contents.

The way the blood spread over his tongue, caressed it reassuringly, made Sam forget everything, everyone, a strange feeling moving through his body, something he felt before each time he drank demon blood; however never this intense, this powerful, making him want to open up and ravage every single demon, every single being. An unusual, yet comforting darkness curled around his tongue, around his very soul, and as Sam closed his eyes and gave in to it, fully and completely, he emptied the whole jar, drinking away his last shred of humanity…


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

Things weren't going as expected.

Dean couldn't remember the last time he got a goodnight's sleep. Fueled by whiskey and cheap, greasy food, he simply refused to sleep more than three or four hours. It was lost time, time he could have spent searching for ways to save his brother, so even if he could have managed to sleep a solid seven hours, without waking up violently, sweaty and panting from a horrible nightmare, he wouldn't have done it.

Way too much time had passed since Sam disappeared. And Dean knew perfectly well how time worked in Hell, how four months here were forty years there, and the fact that around two months have gone by already…it made Dean more and more desperate.

He tried everything these past two months, but it was as if fate was against him. And, well, Fate herself did have a few bones to pick with him and his brother, but he was pretty sure she wasn't involved this time. He tried summoning Crowley, but when he didn't show up, probably on the grounds that he was a complete asshole and using his priorities as King to ignore his calls, Dean decided to go to his minions. He went and found many crossroads, summoning and trapping demons, however each time he caught one, those black eyed jerks refused to cooperate.

"I think you didn't hear me clearly enough, Winchester," a demon said, rolling its eyes. It stood in the middle of the devil's trap Dean made, with its hands on its hips, looking as if it had better things to do than waste its time on the hunter. "I said I don't know. But even if I did, I wouldn't tell you how to get to your precious little brother."

"No…I'm pretty sure _you_ didn't hear _me_ ," Dean growled as he tightened his grip on the blade, raising it to the demon's throat. "You either take me to Hell right now, or I'll freaking gut you!"

But the demon just laughed, shaking its head and grinning from ear to ear. "Do what you want, I don't care. We are under strict orders from the King, and guess what…" It leaned closer, its pitch black eyes having a malicious glint to them. "None of us care if we live or die."

Dean stayed silent for a few moments, then nodded and stabbed the demon through its rotten black heart, watching it slump to the ground. And it went like this each time he managed to find a demon, none of them agreeing to anything, not even when he tried to sell his soul. He asked, begged, threatened and blackmailed, but all the demons did was laugh in his face and tell him that he was on his own.

At one point, he had enough and instead of trapping a demon, he kidnapped it. Brought it back to the bunker and locked it into the dungeon, planning on getting the information he needed from the demon one way or another, even if that meant he had to resort to torture.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kevin asked from the table that was covered in papers and open books, the young man elbow deep in the translation of the Tablet.

He hadn't found anything yet, which was just as frustrating as disappointing, but he didn't give up. He promised Dean he'd help, that he'd find a way, and the hunter wasn't one to turn down something like that, even though he knew how hard Kevin had been working—how each time he passed out from lack of sleep and other mysterious causes it worsened the kid's condition. Dean was selfish and cold, but Kevin understood. Nothing else mattered for the determined hunter but to find and save his little brother.

"What else can I do?" Dean shrugged, washing his blood covered hands. He just finished questioning the demon, which still refused to talk, even after all the terrible things Dean did to it. "And anyway, that son of a bitch deserves everything he gets."

"I know, of course, but…Dean, they're not talking," Kevin stated the obvious, which apparently didn't seem clear enough for the hunter. "No matter what you do to them, none of the demons will talk. They promised Crowley, and you know how he is. They're way more scared of him than you."

"That just means that I have to change the way they think of me," Dean said as he wiped his hands, his eyes full of resolve and his face lacking of expressions and emotions.

"Dean," the young man sighed. "Just stop."

The hunter looked at Kevin and frowned, clenching his jaw and fists. "What do you mean 'just stop'? You know that I can't! And I won't. I don't care what it takes or—"

"I get that!" Kevin cut him off. "What I'm saying is that you should stop looking to demons for answers, because they are obviously useless."

"Well who, _what_ else can I ask?" Dean demanded, but it only took him a second to find an answer to his own question.

 **~...~**

After he killed the demon in the dungeon, Dean spent his time trying to find another species of dickbags to talk to. And those were the angels. When he finally did find one, after days of struggle, the angel immediately turned his request down, just like all the other demons.

"No way. You Winchesters might be important, to some of us and to humanity, but I can't do anything," the angel said, glancing at the circle of holy fire he was stupidly tricked into.

Laughing, Dean took a step closer to the trapped angel and held its stolen blade up. "I know for a fact that you guys can save anyone from Hell, so don't give me this 'My hands are tied' bullshit. I know you can, and if you value your life at least a bit, you will."

"You don't seem to understand. When I say that I can't, I don't mean that I can't do it because I don't want to, but because I truly cannot." The angel tried to convince him, but all it managed to achieve was make the hunter angrier. Dean was seriously starting to have enough of failures.

"No. You know what?" He grinned a twisted, insane grin, as he shrugged. "I don't care. I honestly don't give a single shit. You're gonna go to Hell, with or without me, and when you come back, you better have my brother with you. And it's simple, if you don't do what I say, I will plunge this blade through your vessel's heart. Or fry you with holy oil. Or something equally painful."

And Dean meant everything he said, not believing, _refusing_ to believe that not even the angels could do anything to help his brother. He had enough of not being able to find a way, felt useless, but could also sympathize with his brother. Now he knew what it felt like when he was in Hell and Sam had to try everything, even went as far as drinking demon blood to bring him back. That feeling of utter desperation and sorrow, of hopelessness, that no matter what he did, nothing worked; that while he was here, safe and sound, Sam was being tortured even this instant in the most awful ways; and the fact that it was Crowley, the demon who knew them the most and hated them the most, who was responsible for all of it made Dean even more desperate to save his brother.

He remembered the time he spent in Hell, every painful second of it, but that was it for Dean. He spent many years in Hell, then was out, never having to go back there again. Sam, he was in there way longer than him and, unlike Dean, he had to suffer through the tortures inflicted by the Devil himself, in the Cage. And now he was back in Hell, though instead of Lucifer it was Crowley who abused and tormented his little brother, which didn't mean Sam had it any better. Having to go through the horrors Hell could throw at someone once was one thing, but twice…

Sam's time was running out, and Dean was still nowhere near close to saving him.

"You won't achieve anything by killing me." The angel's voice got the hunter's attention, making him snap out of his daze.

"Maybe. But it will make me feel better," Dean growled, ready to start torturing angels as well, something new that he didn't mind trying out and maybe take up as a hobby, when a deep voice he haven't heard in a very long time pierced the tense silence of the room.

"Dean, that's enough," Castiel ordered, suddenly appearing behind the hunter without any sense of danger, even as Dean held an angel blade and looked like he wouldn't even mind using it on him.

" _Now_ you show up?!" Dean asked incredulously, not believing his eyes. He prayed, called the angel on his phone at least a hundred times, begged him for help, even drunk dialed him a couple of times, but he never answered. Until now. "You have the nerve to ignore all my attempts to contact you, and then appear when I threaten another angel? What about Sam? Don't you give a shit about what's happening to him?"

Castiel sighed, looking uncomfortable with the situation and obviously feeling Dean's anger as he took a step back, which was a good idea because the hunter was really about to snap. "Dean, I couldn't contact you. I was busy…and before you say anything, no, nothing is more important than saving your brother," the angel said, slowly and cautiously, as if speaking to a wild animal. "But the angel you trapped speaks the truth, Dean."

"Truth? Ever since I started looking for a way to get my brother out of those fiery pits, all I've heard were lies!" Dean yelled, his veins bulging as sweat rolled down his temples, anger clouding his vision. "This fucked up, corrupted piece of shit world is full of lies! I can't find anything, or anybody, that could provide me with something useful, and I'm running out of options here! So, excuse me for not believing this winged ass, but I've heard enough excuses."

"Damn it Dean, I get what you're going through here, but even I can't enter Hell!" Castiel raised his voice, something he rarely did, and that made the hunter shut up. "I swear, I tried. The moment I heard your prayers, when I found out what happened to Sam, that was the first thing I did. But it's as if there's some force stopping me, and all the other angels, from getting in there, blocking us like some kind of impenetrable wall. And killing this angel won't change any of that."

Dean felt like screaming, going into a frenzy and just trash everything, but all he did was let the blade drop to the floor, and he nearly followed it as his shoulders slouched. "Then what?" he asked hopelessly, his voice weak and broken. "What the hell am I supposed to do, if neither Heaven nor Hell can help?"

"I don't know, but I know that you will find a way. I'll help, I promise. This time, now that I'm here, I'll do everything in my power to find something useful, alright?" The angel walked closer and gazed at Dean, who looked right back at him with eyes filled with sorrow and misery.

"Yeah," was all he said, before putting out the holy fire that held the other angel captive. It glanced at Castiel, who gave it a nod, then disappeared. "There has to be a way, right?" Dean asked after a few moments of silence, clearing his throat and trying to get himself together, because self-pity wouldn't bring his brother back any faster.

"I'm sure there is. We just need to think."

 **~...~**

Castiel said that two weeks ago.

Now, as Dean knocked on Kevin's door, he tried not to think about the worst case scenario the young man mentioned on the phone, all those months ago, but it really seemed that they wouldn't find anything. The saying 'hope dies last' was starting to lose its meaning at this point, however Dean promised himself that he wouldn't give up until he was dead.

"Dean," Kevin yawned as he opened the door, glancing up at the hunter. "You here for the translations?"

"Yeah, are they ready? Did you find anything?" he asked, not even getting his hopes up anymore. He's had enough of always getting disappointed. It wasn't good for his nerves.

"They are, but I don't think you need to see them," Kevin mumbled lowly, and Dean didn't even need to ask in order to know what was wrong. But he asked anyway.

"You didn't find anything, did you?" Dean asked, his friend shaking his head after a second. "Nothing at all? On the whole Tablet?"

"Well, technically, I only have half the tablet, but no. I'm sorry Dean, I really tried but…there's just nothing about getting into Hell, or anything remotely useful in saving Sam."

"You tried, Kevin. At least you tried," Dean said, his voice flat and emotionless, as if the hunter was only a ghost of his true, past self.

And he sure felt that way. Obviously, he wouldn't stop looking for a way to get his brother out of that place, his resolve couldn't be broken, but he could. Each day, each minute, each second meant a hundred more filled with torture for Sam, and this feeling of uselessness, that Dean couldn't do anything to stop it, was the worst. The never-ending waiting, the blind search for a way that was just out of his reach sometimes made the hunter delusional, delirious even, and he had a plan, a horrible but genius plan that he only wanted to use when they were completely out of options, and unfortunately, now seemed to be that time. That is, until Kevin spoke again.

"However… I think I have an idea. I'm actually a bit surprised nobody thought about this before, though I guess I can understand seeing how risky it is," Kevin said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"What? What is it?" Dean asked curiously, watching his friend with slightly wide, bloodshot eyes.

"Well, remember how Sam got there? Rogue reaper. It's true that Crowley must have either killed all of them just to screw with us or, like he did with the demons, threatened them that if they were to help you, they would suffer the consequences. But, I guess you never know. Somebody might still be out there," Kevin suggested, and it was all Dean could do not to give the poor kid a bear hug or something.

"Kevin, you're a fucking genius," he muttered, then added, "and I'm apparently an idiot."

"Dean, thanks for the compliment, but I think there's a reason why we haven't tried that yet. As I said, we don't know how many are still out there, and Crowley's probably watching the remaining ones."

"Let him watch, I don't care. As long as I can get a rogue reaper to take me to Hell, I wouldn't mind getting stuck there. I just need a ride to that rotten place, I know what to do from there," Dean said with a small smirk, already thinking about how he could get his hands on a rogue reaper.

"Are you sure? About knowing how to get out, I mean. What if you get stuck, just like Sam did?" Kevin asked worriedly, but Dean just scoffed.

"Please, have some faith in me." He winked, patting the other on the shoulder. "Trust me, to get out of Hell you need to go through Purgatory, and I know that place like the back of my hand."

"If you say so." Kevin nodded, then glanced around before looking back at Dean. "Uh, so, what should I do? I already translated the Tablet, so I'm not too sure what else I can help you with."

"Well, why don't we go on a hunt for rogue reapers?" Dean proposed, his friend agreeing with a smile.


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

Another week had passed, and still nothing. Kevin was right.

When he and Dean went to look for reapers gone rogue, at first they couldn't find anyone, but after a few nights spent on breaking skulls instead of sleeping, they finally managed to get their hands on one. And of course, it refused to help, just like Kevin predicted.

"No amount of money or souls could possibly convince me to take Dean Winchester to Hell. Haven't you heard the news? You're officially banned from that place. I would be glad, if I were you, not try and get in there anyway," the rogue reaper said, before spitting a good amount of bloody saliva on the floor.

Its face was pretty messed up from the constant beating it got from Dean, blood running down its chin, and one of its arms was seriously burned from when the hunter _accidentally_ poured too much holy oil on it before setting it on fire. The rogue reaper was tied to a chair in an abandoned car factory, and they've been trying to get something out of it for an hour and a half now.

"That doesn't mean you can't point us towards the right direction," Dean snarled, holding the angel blade that he stole and kept from the angel he captured some time back. "Either that, or your take me there. No need to bring me back, I'll get a one-way ticket."

"You're missing the point, Winchester. I can't do it!" the reaper growled, tugging at the chains that held it down. "I take you to Hell, Crowley uses me as a party piñata. I tell you anything that might help you, he'll find out and again, the King of Hell will take his anger out on me. I will be wishing death before he would even begin my torture! So, sorry, but no way. You can kill me here and now, if that makes you happy, because honestly, whatever you'd do to me would be nothing compared to what Crowley would."

"That might be true, but I know a few crafty spells that just might change your mind," Kevin joined in, holding a bowl in his hand. "I learned quite a lot from the Tablet, and some of the spells described on it can be used on your kind as well. Care to find out which ones?"

The rogue reaper rolled its eyes, then shook its head in disbelief. "Have you not heard me? I don't care! Do whatever you want… I can't help you, even if I were crazy enough to want to."

Laughing, Dean walked closer to the tied down reaper, stopping in front of the complicated reaper's trap drawn on the dank floor of the factory as the rogue reaper looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Dean has had enough of the constant refusals, rejections and failures. He was a wreck, both emotionally and physically, the serious lack of sleep and endless defeats rendering him delirious, crazed and he couldn't stop the maniacal laughter that escaped his throat, so suddenly and unexpectedly, surprising even him. And that just made him laugh even harder, making Kevin look at him with worry in his eyes.

"I think he malfunctioned," the rogue reaper said as it glanced at Kevin, while Dean kept on laughing, somehow unable to stop. He just had to let it all out, in laughter instead of tears, and when he finally stopped, the smile faltered and faded from his face as he stepped closer and moved the blade to the other's throat.

Then, he surprised everybody by dropping it, pulling out his gun, and pointing it at his own head.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Kevin asked in surprise, taking a few cautious steps towards the desperate hunter.

"This is the only way to get to Sam," he said, his voice even and serious. His moment of crazy gone, Dean's head was finally clear, and he understood what had to be done. "I didn't want it to come to this, but I have no other choice. If no one is willing to help, to cooperate, to take me to Hell, then I'll just have to go there by myself."

"Excuse my rude interruption, but I hope you do know that if you kill yourself, you won't be able to come back, not like that," the rogue reaper said, watching the hunter with wary eyes. "You might be able to save your brother, if you manage to get into Hell in the first place, but there will be no way out for you, no coming back."

"I know," Dean stated, not fazed by the words in the slightest. "But I don't care. We have sacrificed our lives for each other so many times, and if saving my brother would mean killing myself, I'd be willing to do it in a heartbeat," he said, with all of his feelings of desperation, conviction and unfaltering resolve etched onto his face.

"What about Sam?" Kevin asked, getting close enough to the hunter to be able to snatch the gun away from him, but Dean knew that even if he tried, he wouldn't manage to accomplish anything with that. He was bigger, faster and stronger, and could easily overpower the younger man if push came to shove.

"What about him?" Dean shrugged, slowly moving his thumb as he pulled back the hammer, while watching Kevin from the corner of his eyes. "I know how he's gonna feel. Blame himself for my death, like always. But that's what we do," Dean said, smiling ruefully. "We're a cursed family, always have been and will be. We die over and over again, breaking every rule of life and death, laughing in Fate's face as we somehow keep coming back to life. Well, this has to stop at a certain point, so why shouldn't that be now? I sold my soul to bring my brother back from the dead, went to Hell, then so did Sam, who in turn left his soul there. Both of us have been to Heaven and Purgatory, and don't even get me started on what apparently happened on a certain Tuesday.

We have died more times than we were ever supposed to. It's time to end things, forever, and if it has to be me who goes first, then that's how it is. Sam…he never wanted this life, not like me. He tried to run away, to Stanford, then to a new life, but things kept on finding him. **I** kept on finding him, kept on dragging him back into this life, so without me, he might get a chance to live a life he actually enjoys. Saving him by sacrificing myself will be the last thing I can be proud of, something I finally didn't fuck up. So before I go, I just want to do something right. I want to do this right…for my brother, and for myself."

A heavy silence fell upon the three of them. Dean was ready to pull the trigger, but knew he had to make sure that Kevin wasn't looking first, not wanting to scar the kid anymore. He let out a silent sight as Kevin watched him with sorrowful eyes and the rogue reaper just sat there, staring at the floor.

And then Castiel appeared.

"There's no need for any of that," the angel said as he gazed at Dean, whose hand suddenly became so weak that he couldn't hold the gun anymore, the weapon falling out from between his finger as each and every muscle in that limb relaxed against his will.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked in confusion, trying to move his hand but finding it unable to even budge.

"Stopping you from making a great mistake. Like I always do," Castiel said with a smile, then with a flick of his wrist he sent the gun flying to the far end of the factory. He looked at the three men, then walked over to the hunter and, a bit awkwardly, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I promised you that I'd help, that I would find a way. And I might have deceived and betrayed both you and your brother once, but this time, I managed to keep my promise."

Dean blinked, a pathetic smile crossing his face. "Does that mean you…?"

"Yes." The angel nodded, the smile on his face widening. "I know how to save Sam. Found a way that will work for sure. He could be out of there by tomorrow, Dean."

Shaking his head as he laughed in disbelief, Dean pulled the awkward angel into a hug and fought the tears of relief that threatened to leave his eyes if he didn't pay attention. "I can't believe it," he muttered, and couldn't help but chuckle when he felt Castiel's arms around him as he patted Dean's back, slowly and uncomfortably, obviously not used to hugs. He pulled back after that, not wanting to prolong the angel's social awkwardness, then turned towards the annoyed-looking reaper.

"I guess we can let him loose, huh," Dean wondered, the angel nodding his agreement before walking over to the bound reaper and untying it. It stood up soon after its binds were gone, and glared at Dean with quite a lot of hatred in its eyes. "Yeah, sorry about that," Dean offered as he quickly destroyed a part of the trap with his foot, but the rogue reaper just rolled its eyes and, after making sure it shot its nastiest glare at everyone present in the factory, disappeared.

There was a rather uncomfortable silence after that, some unspoken words and issues hanging in the air, before Kevin cleared his throat and asked, "Were you seriously going to shoot yourself?"

And Dean wasn't going to lie. This would have been the perfect moment for him to say something like he was just joking, that he just wanted to see if he could shake the reaper a bit, but no, not this time. Dean Winchester had enough of lies. "Yeah, I was," was all he said as he looked at Kevin with a sincere look on his face.

Probably not the best at bearing with awkward silences, Castiel quickly drew the hunter's and the prophet's attention as he said, "So, Dean, are you ready to go to Hell?"

Turning back to the angel, Dean nodded and, feeling ready to take on an army of demons if necessary, replied, "Any day."

 **—**

It was too late for Sam, though. He couldn't be saved anymore, and it wasn't like he wanted to be either, at this point. He freaking loved Hell.

Ever since that day in the Colosseum, when he beat the shapeshifter to death, things have changed. For a few days he was still tortured, like always, but they gradually stopped when Sam didn't show any signs of suffering. Instead of screams and wails of pain, he just grinned at his captors, visibly enjoying the way his skin was peeled off his body, as metal rods pierced through him and the intense feeling of his spine being pulled out of his back. The reapers that tortured him exchanged a few glances before finally leaving him alone, his days of torment stopping for good. Sam had to wait hours, or maybe even days, before Crowley showed up in his cell's doorway, wearing one of his nastiest grins.

"Well, well, well. I see the demon blood diet paid off," the demon said, as he stepped into the broken man's cell and, with a snap of his fingers, broke the chains that held Sam in place.

"What are you doing here?" Sam demanded, hunger clouding his vision as the early symptoms of withdrawal crept up on him, wanting nothing more than to slam the pompous demon against the wall and shred him from his skin, muscles and meat, leaving nothing but bones and blood, so much sweet, sweet blood.

"Oh, just granting you your freedom. Or don't you want it?" Crowley chuckled, nodding to the open cell door and motioning for the hunter to follow him. Not trusting the demon one bit, but seeing no downfall to following him, Sam slowly rose to his feet and walked out of his cell.

Suspicious, he didn't say a word as he walked after the other, only glancing from left to right, at the other cells holding abused souls, and Sam couldn't help but smile as he saw all those tortured people. If somebody would have seen him, they'd have thought that he was insane to find a tormented body amusing, but Sam didn't find anything wrong with it. Why shouldn't he laugh at others' suffering?

Finally, as they reached their destination, Crowley stopped in front of a large metal door, that looked just like Sam's cell door, and knocked on it. There were a few clicks and noises of a key being inserted in the hole, and as the door creaked open, a demon stepped forward and greeted the King.

"What am I doing here?" Sam asked, curiosity and suspicion getting the better of him as he tried to look over the demon's shoulder standing in the doorway, wanting to know what was going on in the cell. However, from the pitiful moaning sounds and wails coming from the room, Sam had a pretty good idea already.

"Just watch, Samantha," Crowley said, nodding to the demon, then stepped aside and let the hunter walk closer, getting a better look at the man stretched on a cross in the cell. Tilting his head, Sam watched as the demon held up a scary-looking hammer, modified for horrible purposes, the chained man looking from the weapon to Sam with wide, panicked eyes.

"Please!" he pleaded, tears and blood running down his cheeks. "Oh Lord, please help me! Do something, please, I don't want this anymore, I'm so sorry!" the man cried as the demon closed in on him, then efficiently shut him up with a blow to his mouth, to which the man let out a deafening, pain-filled scream of anguish.

And Sam just watched. He didn't feel anything, not when the man begged for his life, or when the demon began beating him up with the hammer, the sounds of bones breaking and skull shattering only amazing the hunter. He smiled, which soon turned into a dark, twisted grin as the demon grabbed a wire cutter and cut the crying man's stomach open, and when it set fire to his insides, Sam chuckled. He found it interesting, how easily the human body could be ripped apart, loved those wails filled with misery and pain, and didn't find any of it disturbing or wrong. No, what the demon was doing to the man, to his soul, felt like the creation of a piece of art, those wretched sounds ripped from the man music to Sam's ears.

"So, what do you think? How do you feel?" Crowley asked after a while, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned towards the hunter, who felt like a changed man.

He didn't know what to say, how to answer, too captivated by what was going on in the cell; but as he watched the horrors unfolding in front of his eyes, he realized something, the thought bringing a smile of fascination to his lips.

"Nothing," he answered, looking at the smirking demon, then narrowed his eyes. "I feel nothing at all."

"Exactly. And since you're a smart man, at least most of the times, I assume you also know the reason for your lack of empathy towards our guest," Crowley said, raising an eyebrow and waiting for the hunter to figure out what has changed, why the demon was suddenly fine with letting him walk free like this. And when it all clicked, when Sam finally understood what Crowley's plan was all along, he felt as if a blindfold has been lifted from his tired eyes, and he could finally see clearly.

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, then licked his lips. "The demon blood. It changed me. Turned me," he said, grinning and, as he felt the familiar darkness flow, swirl and snake around in his body, felt that evil that was his own soul now, Sam blinked and turned his eyes pitch black.

"Scary," Crowley joked, chuckling as he looked into those new pair of endless black eyes. "Took you long enough to figure it out, though."

Rolling his eyes, Sam turned them back to the hazel they once used to be and shrugged. "I was a bit preoccupied, getting tortured by your puppets and such, to contemplate on my existence," he said mockingly, but he had to agree with what the other demon said.

He was pretty sure that his soul has been black ever since he killed 'Dean' in the Colosseum, that day being the last one he could remember when he felt something remotely human. Ever since then, he just felt…well, nothing. Just like when he was soulless, only more intense, and now that he thought about it, his senses were stronger, too—sharper. Just standing there, in the doorway of a cell far from his own, Sam could hear the hundreds of cries and screams of the many tortured souls echoing through the long corridors, the warm and humid air against his skin not bothering him anymore, and the strong smell of sulfur didn't make him wrinkle his nose either, as he was quite sure most of it was his own body odor, now.

He was a full flesh and blood demon now, and the thought made him smile.

"I wonder if I could drink my own blood," he wondered aloud, grinning at his own stupid idea, since he might have been a demon, but he was still an addict, still loved the taste of demon blood.

"Go ahead and try eating yourself, just clean up afterwards, will you," Crowley kindly suggested, letting out a low chuckle afterwards. "Now, let me ask you. Do you still want to leave Hell?"

Frowning, Sam opened his mouth and was about to ask why the other demon would ask something like that but, remembering Crowley's greeting sentence, he smiled instead, shaking his head. "Guess not. But you knew I'd say that, didn't you? That's why you took me here, and why you gave me the possibility to leave in the first place. To make sure that I'd stay…since like this, as a demon, I wouldn't want to leave."

"You see? I knew you were smart," the demon said, shutting the cell door with a move of his hand, and looked at the man turned demon. "Now, are you ready for the _real_ party to begin?"

 **~...~**

Being a demon was one of the best things Sam has ever experienced in his entire life. He did what he wanted, and nobody dared to stop him.

He could have left Hell, could have told Crowley to fuck himself and leave him hanging, but he didn't, for many reasons. If he were to go back, he'd have to come face to face with his annoying brother, who'd surely want to help and save him, which was the last thing Sam wanted. Sure, he could have caused chaos and killed many people by going back, but he didn't really want that, either. Most demons loved killing humans, and it wasn't like Sam didn't enjoy watching as that demon ripped that soul apart, or played with the thought of tormenting someone himself, but he was more interested in killing something else. He wanted to maim and mutilate demons, instead. That was one of his main reasons for staying. The demons, and their blood.

After their little talk with Crowley, they set down a few rules and whatnots, Sam actually liking most of them. He hated the demon, would have loved nothing more than to simply take his time and slowly, ever so slowly kill that son of a bitch, but he didn't for obvious reasons. Sam liked Hell, this version of it, at least. And by ripping Crowley's throat out, all he'd achieve would be another war, full of power hungry and confused demons, probably most of them wanting him as the new king, and Sam sure as hell wasn't going to fill that role. Too much of a burned, a nuisance that would just make him waste precious time he could be spending on drinking demons.

That being said, Sam let him live, and Crowley must have known in advance what the former man would be thinking, because he went to great lengths to please Sam. The King let him be his right hand, without any responsibilities, just the privilege to do whatever he wanted with each and every demon here.

And that was a real Heaven in Hell for the him.

Every black eyed fiend feared Sam Winchester, the new Sam, who turned from prey to predator. He used his powers to hurl demons against walls as he walked down corridors, to torture and abuse them in the worst ways, ways even he didn't know were possible until recently. His powers as a human when he drank Ruby's blood couldn't even come close to what he could do now, a single glance possible of bringing eternal suffering to any demon, or instant death. He roamed the hallways like a shadow of death, the demons' boogey man, spending his days hunting and watching.

Sam still considered himself a hunter, only a far greater one than before, his only preys being demons, which were living in terror, wondering when the overpowered Winchester was going to kill them for their blood, or for the simple fun of it. And he also watched, many hours, many days, as souls were being tortured, their agonizing screams never failing to bring a smile to his face.

He became the very thing he and his brother used to hunt, used to hate from the bottom of their hearts, but that was fine. Sam looked into the abyss and reveled in what he saw there, and when it looked back into him, he welcomed the darkness with open arms. He was enjoying every second of this life, this new life, embracing his addiction and his powers. Without all those human feelings and emotions weighting him down, he was unstoppable, heartless and cold, and it was fucking amazing.

Sam was having the time of his life.

It was fun, killing as many demons as he wanted, but there was still a limited number. There were a lot, hundreds of demons in Hell, but Sam's blood thirst was never-ending, so Crowley had to warn him not to kill too many, or else there'd be consequences. It wasn't blackmail, no matter how much it sounded like one, because Sam knew the King wouldn't risk angering him. There'd probably be a new Apocalypse then, and nobody wanted to live through another one.

One would think that too much demon blood could be an overdose, but Sam was built to handle an endless amount of sulfuric honey down his throat, his only problem being the constant craving. With the overpowering smell of demons and their blood, Sam had a rather hard time controlling his urges, and had many times found himself going crazy on an unsuspecting demon, ripping it apart like a famished animal, right there in the middle of the room, corridor or wherever he found it, and drinking its blood until he was covered with it elbow deep, warm crimson dripping down his chin as he licked his lips.

And it was the most fun when they actually fought back. Not many did, Sam catching them off guard or using his powers to render them motionless, but he sometimes let them try, only to crush them afterwards, their blood so much sweeter after a fight. Throughout his life, Sam had been hurt in hundreds, thousands of ways, and he never once found pain enjoyable. But ever since he became a demon and embraced this darkness, he developed a taste for suffering. Seeing others in pain was awesome enough, but feeling his own skin being torn to shreds was something indescribable.

He wasn't a masochist, nothing like that, Sam didn't get off by having others beat the shit out of him, but he did enjoy it, in a strange but satisfying way. He remembered, when he was especially hungry, he faked that his powers weren't working, surprised by his own acting skills, and watched in anticipation as the demon closed in on him. The weapon it had in its hands looked like some illegitimate child of an axe and a saw, promising pain and suffering to those it would be used on.

Sam backed into a wall then, raising his hands in defeat, but the demon ignored his pleas for mercy and slashed at his palms. Hissing at the uncomfortable feeling, since demons like Sam needed a lot more than a few cuts to actually feel pain, he grinned at the demon, daring it to do something more. And he wasn't disappointed when the pissed off demon began truly using the weapon on him. Sam groaned, screamed and laughed as his bones broke and his skin tore. The axe-saw cut and slashed at every inch of his body, half of the skin and muscles missing on his back when he couldn't take it anymore, and took control over the demon's body.

He loved that particular power, because it granted him the chance to watch as a demon mutilated its own body, the look of utter shock and panic on their faces when he made them kill themselves sending chills down Sam's spine. He was the puppeteer of nightmares, able to do whatever he wanted with any demon. That time, too, he watched in amazement and amusement as the demon cut himself away piece by piece, all the while howling in pain and frustration, the feeling of not being able to control its own body surely driving the demon mad.

Hell was fun.

 **~...~**

One day, just after he finished 'talking' to a demon about its ways of making deals, Sam was licking the remaining blood off of his fingers, when the main asshole found him.

"Got a surprise for you, Marquis De Sade," he heard the annoying, narcissistic voice coming from behind him, and as he turned around, Sam found himself staring into the ever grinning demon's eyes.

"Crowley," he spat, raising his eyebrows when the demon chuckled. "What is it?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a surprise if I'd tell you," Crowley said as he glanced at Sam's clothes, then back at the hunter-demon. "I see you've just had lunch."

Shifting his eyes to black, Sam looked his clothes over, covered in dried blood, then licked his lips and smiled a smile that was more sick than sincere. "Yeah, I have. Love the meals here."

Crowley shook his head, mumbling something along the lines of 'kids these days', then turned on his heel and began walking, obviously expecting Sam to follow him. Last time Crowley took him somewhere, Sam got to watch a soul while it was being tortured, so now that the demon had another surprise waiting for him, he was pretty sure that whatever it was, it would be worth his time.

This time their walk took longer, a few hands trying to grab Sam as he passed by cells after cells, and he was getting more curious by the second, keen to find out what the demon had in mind for him. At one point, he was tempted to ask him how far this _surprise_ was, like an impatient child, but refrained from doing so and settled for glancing around the hallways instead.

When they finally reached their destination, Crowley opened a door that was similar to the cell doors, but different in a way that it didn't have any bars or openings, the whole thing just a large metal door. After opening it, the demon stepped aside and looked at Sam, raising an eyebrow. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go on in."

Eyeing the demon suspiciously, Sam hesitated for a few seconds, not trusting Crowley but interested in what things the room could be holding, what kind of surprise. He shot one last look at the other before walking into the cell.

"What the…" Sam started, but found himself unable to finish his sentence as he looked around in surprise, taking in the contents of the room.

There was a woman bound by her wrists and ankles, standing, or more like hanging in the middle of the room. The chains that were around her wrists led to the ceiling, keeping her arms extended, but since the ceiling wasn't very high, the woman was still able to stand instead of having her feet hover above the floor. Her ankles were shackled as well, the chains disappearing into the floor under her, and from the way it looked, she wouldn't be able to move her legs, to kick or fight anyone, not even someone standing inches away from her. Her head hung low, the woman appearing to be unconscious for the moment, her clothes torn and dirty, but lacking the usual stains of blood and vomit.

"She's new," Crowley stated as he stepped into the cell, wearing a wicked smirk. "I thought you'd want a fresh meat, for your first one."

"Wait, you mean I get to torture her?" Sam asked in surprise, a smile crossing his face as he looked back at the woman, with not even a hint of pity or reluctance in his eyes, then at the variety of tools packed on a steel table at the side of the room.

There were so many weapons, objects that could cause insufferable pain, liquids like poison and acid, and much more. Sam felt like a kid on Christmas morning, not sure what to say or how to react.

"That's why we're here. I noticed how you looked at the soul one of my demons tortured, how you were longing to hold a knife in your hands. You want those screams of pain to come from your own doing, your handiwork, and I'm not one to leave a fellow demon unsatisfied," Crowley explained, patting Sam's back as he passed him, going to the table and running his fingers along the many sharp and blunt objects. "She will be your first, but if you like it, then it doesn't have to stop here. I'll allow you to torture whomever you want, be it a doomed soul or a demon, as long as you don't lessen the number of my black eyed little soldiers."

Speechless for the longest time, Sam couldn't do anything but smile, grin from ear to ear as he felt the kind of happiness only demons felt, that dark, twisted feeling that made Earth's evilest creations laugh. "Crowley, I never thought I'd say this, but thank you," Sam said when he finally found his voice, then deciding that he has waited long enough, he walked over to the unconscious woman, stopping in front of her before looking at the other demon in the room. "Now, will you get your ass outta here? I want to be alone for this."

Pulling a face, Crowley scoffed but nodded nonetheless, leaving the cell and, before he closed the door behind himself, said, "Good luck, and happy slaughtering."

"Asshole," Sam sneered, then let out a low laugh as he watched the peaceful woman, breathing evenly and probably dreaming about something nice and comforting.

However her dream was soon going to be crushed, replaced by the cruel reality, and Sam knew that this person must have done something terrible to have such bad luck, to get under his hands.


	5. Chapter V

A/N: Just a warning here, that this chapter is pretty much pure torture. ~6,000 words of Sam having the time of his life, playing with this poor soul. But next chapter, we'll have some more Dean. And Sam. And _Sam and Dean_. Anyway, enjoy; and remember—reviews are always appreciated!

 **Chapter V**

Letting out a small sigh, Sam licked his lips in anticipation as he raised a hand and caressed the woman's cheek, tucking a few strands of her messy hair behind her ear, his eyes turning black as he watched her frown, then slowly open her eyes, which were an icy blue color. She blinked rapidly, looking confused and a bit dazed, but only for a second—because the moment she saw Sam, looked into his black eyes and noticed that predatory grin plastered across his face, she gasped and pulled her head away from the demon's rough hand.

"Who are you?" she asked in a high pitched, frantic voice, looking like she was about to have a panic attack. "Where is this place? Why am I—" She paused, tugging at the chains at her wrists and ankles, before looking back at Sam, her eyes widening even more. "What's going on?!"

"Oh, don't tell me you don't know," Sam scoffed, looking her over, then grabbed her chin and lifted her head up. The woman desperately tried to pull her head away, but there was no escaping the demon's iron grip. "Come on, work that pretty head of yours. You know where you are, don't you?"

"No, I…" she muttered, shaking slightly as she looked around the room, and when she noticed the dozens of weapons piled on top of the steel table, she let out a wretched gasp and her body tensed, becoming rigid from shock. "Oh God no, please don't kill me," the woman whispered pitifully, her lips trembling as she spoke.

"Kill you?" Sam asked, then let out an amused chuckle. "You're already dead. Here, let me sum it up for you, since you seem to be in denial. You're in Hell, and I'm a demon. And do you know what demons do to souls that end up in the fiery pits?"

"Y-You kill them…?" she asked, looking like she was about to break down in tears, and Sam rolled his eyes, wondering if she managed to sell her soul without even realizing it. Wouldn't really surprise him, if that was the case.

"As I said like ten seconds ago, you're already dead. Caput. Our job, and my hobby, is torturing souls like you. And no matter what happens to you, how far I go, how many pieces are left of you, you can't die. That's the best part, what makes it all so much _fun_ ," Sam explained, watching as all hope and blood drained from the woman's face, looking like she was going to pass out any second now from shock.

"No, no, that can't… That can't be! I'm not dead, that's no possible!" she yelled, and here we go, Sam was going to have to listen to the whole five stages of grief with this woman. "I remember, I was home and fed my dog, but she kept on barking—"

"Oh, there. Barking. Now, I'm pretty sure it wasn't your dog, miss, that was barking," he pointed out, finally letting go of her and taking a step back, then took a deep breath before continuing. "Listen here, because after this I won't give a shit about what you say. You probably heard a hellhound, which is, for your information, a dog from Hell, responsible for bringing expired souls down here."

"Expired souls? But my soul was just fine!" she said desperately.

"What did you do ten years ago? Did you perhaps make a deal, promising your soul in exchange? Did you gain anything new all those years ago?" Sam asked, starting to have enough of her cluelessness, but fortunately he could see the realization on her face, as it all sank in, her mind capable of recalling things after all.

"I did. But I thought the soul part was just a joke! Come on, I was drunk and 21, how was I supposed to know that I sold my soul to…to a demon?" she asked hysterically, to which Sam just shrugged, then walked over to the table.

"Well, that's a demon deal for you. It's not always fair."

He looked around the wide range of weapons he could choose from, pondering on which one he should use first, as he wanted to take this slowly, enjoy ever moment of it.

"Please, I'm not supposed to be here, just let me go, I won't tell anyone!" she pleaded hopelessly, Sam already tuning her annoying voice out as he picked up a pair of pliers, turning it in the faint red light and feeling a sick smile crossing his face, as he imagined all the ways he could possibly use it on the woman.

"You know," he began, walking back and stopping in front of the woman with the pliers in his hands, "you're really starting to get on my nerves. How about shutting up?"

She blinked, tears building up in her eyes as she watched the demon raise the pliers. Sam opened and closed them teasingly, his smile widening as the woman finally broke down in tears, shaking her head in denial and making those irritating sobbing sounds. "No, please, you don't have to do this…" she begged, her body shaking from fear.

"I know," Sam said as he shrugged and suddenly grabbed the woman's jaw, forcing her mouth open. "But I want to."

And as he said that, he quickly opened the pliers and, with a swift motion, trapped the crying woman's tongue between the tool's jaws and pulled. Her scream was deafening but it was also such a sweet sound. The woman was choking on her own blood and wailing in misery, while the demon studied the severed tongue for a minute, its texture and the way it tore so cleanly from the sobbing woman's mouth. He felt pretty proud of himself for doing such a good job for his first time, and couldn't wait for the _real_ fun to start.

The woman kept on crying, bawling and howling in pain, having no idea that getting her tongue ripped out would be the least of her worries. "Oh, come on," Sam rolled his eyes as he let out a low chuckle and walked back to the table to pick up a carving knife. "It's not that bad. Here, let me cheer you up," he said, his black eyes seemingly darkening as he raised the knife and ran it along the trembling woman's lips, before stopping at the corner of her mouth and gripping her hair in order to keep her from thrashing around. He needed this to be perfect, after all.

Unable to shake her head, or even pull it away, the woman let out an agonizing scream as Sam began slicing her lips, cutting and carving the corners, feeling like a kid at Halloween, carving a creepy and happy smile on a pumpkin. He grinned, marveling at his work as he took a step back after he was finished, and tilted his head in wonder when he and his victim made eye contact, the sheer amount of sorrow and bone-chilling fear in her eyes sending a shiver down the demon's spine.

"See? It's not even that bad."

Sam laughed, discarding the blood covered knife somewhere, then after a moment of hesitation and contemplation, he decided to pick up a small blowtorch for his next party trick. "So, I was wondering…if you like it this much, why stop at the tongue?" he asked excitedly as he winked at the poor woman, who was yanking at her chains with little success, then turned on the blowtorch and raised it to her face.

Sam never knew the human vocal cords could manage to create such a piercing, shrieking sound, but as he began melting away the woman's eyeball, even his ears were ringing from the horrible sound, resembling that of a trapped animal. Which was kind of what the woman was, right then. But he didn't stop, wouldn't let a little screaming stop his handiwork, and kept on slowly melting the eyeball, until nothing remained in the eye socket. She obviously tried to fight, to close her eyes in hopes for the pain to stop, but Sam just melted her eyelid off, too, not the least bit bothered.

He then moved to her other eyeball, watching as the mushy liquid, kind of like an eyeball soup, slid down her cheeks, carrying the melted remains of what had once been a blue eye, with the additions of some blood and tears. After he was done with both of her eyes, rendering the woman completely blind, Sam fetched a saw from the table, careful not to pick the electronic one. He wanted to do this, to do everything by himself, with as little help as possible.

The woman was neither screaming nor crying anymore, the latter probably having something to do with her missing eyeballs, but she was still making those pitiful moaning sounds, making Sam wonder if he could put a stop to them as well. Which was why he chose to press the ragged side of the saw against her mouth, a bit disappointed that he'd have to destroy the Joker look he gave her, but since the end always justified the means, he simply said a silent goodbye to his piece of art and began sawing the woman's bottom jaw off. She tried to close her mouth, to bite his fingers off as he held her mouth open, but soon stopped moving her jaw altogether as the demon sliced and shred the muscles that made jaw movement possible.

Normally, anyone would have passed out at this point from blood loss, or gone into shock from the intense amount of pain and suffering experienced, but not here. Not in Hell. And Sam loved it, loved how no matter what he did to the woman, how many pieces he'd leave, she wouldn't die and the fun would never, ever stop. They could do this forever, and Sam knew he could never get bored of it, this sweet sensation of taking someone apart piece by piece, to cause them intolerable agony, all of this making him wonder how his brother must have felt, when he was in Sam's shoes. Well, maybe not entirely, since Sam was quite sure Dean never gave in to the darkness so fully.

He was a broken man, just too weak to keep on suffering, which was the reason why he picked up the razor and became Alastair's student. But Sam, he embraced Hell and everything it gave him, became the very thing they used to hunt and loved it, the demon blood that ran in his veins or down his throat the most liberating feeling in the world. His brother did torture souls, though, just like Sam now, so they at least had this in common. The two brothers who both saved and tormented humans, dead or alive.

And holding the severed jaw in his hands, Sam wondered if his big brother, the righteous man, had ever felt this complete while doing such atrocious activities, if he ever felt the need to just laugh as he inflicted terrible pain, without the slightest care in the world. He guessed not, his brother incapable of doing such things without feeling the weight of his guilt, of his conscience, weighting down on his shoulders. He wasn't even close to being as fucked up as Sam was, both psychologically and spiritually. He didn't get to taste demon blood when he was a mere infant, unknowing of the evils of this world, those same evils that he now came to love, to adore and to embrace.

Before, Sam couldn't understand how demons were capable of doing such sick things, but now he did. And also knew that, for Dean's sake, he didn't want to see his big brother ever again, for many reasons. They were too different now, two worlds, two species and two set of minds… And Sam was sure, that if he were to meet Dean, they'd have to fight. And he wasn't going to lose.

Letting out a sigh, Sam pulled a face as he threw the severed jaw against the wall, a twisted smile splitting his face as the body part bounced off the wall, leaving a bloody smear where it landed. He glanced at the saw, noticing how a few pieces of meat and skin got stuck between the teeth of the object, so he reached for a rag at the corner of the table and managed to get most of the gore out before giving up and just tossing the saw back to the pile of weapons. Sam wondered what to do next, looking at the wide variety of options in front of him but unable to make up his mind, when he heard a faint sound coming from the woman chained for his entertainment.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked sarcastically, watching as his victim's head swayed from one side to the other, a wretched sound resembling a moan coming from her mouth, or at least what was left of it. She seemed to be on the verge of losing consciousness, something that was unfortunately possible in Hell, though Sam wasn't planning on letting her take a nap, not when they were having such a great time. "Don't worry, you'll be getting your sight back soon…right after I'm done with this," the demon said with a wicked smirk on his face, picking up a syringe from the table, then after a good amount of thinking, he chose to go with the hydrofluoric acid, an acid known to be an acute poison.

Sometimes it paid off to be smart.

He handled the small bottle of acid carefully, as he pricked the top with the tip of the needle and filled it with as much acid as the syringe could handle, then drew it back and put the bottle down. Sam walked around the dazed woman, then as he stopped behind her, he used her hair to pull her head back, not even bothering to get rid of the possible air bubbles remaining in the syringe as he lined the needle up with that tiny part of the head, at the side of the skull and just behind the temple, called the pterion. He heard it was supposed to be the weakest part of the skull, and he must have heard right, since as soon as he jammed the needle into the woman's head, the tiny thing slid right in and through the bone, and managed to go so deep that the side of the woman's head connected with the barrel where the poisonous liquid was kept.

She immediately began thrashing about, and Sam knew that he should just hurry up and inject her, but instead took his time, aware of the amount of pain this slow injection would cause the woman. He slowly, ever so slowly, pushed the plunger down and emptied the acid into her head and brain, then when the barrel was completely empty, Sam pulled the needle out and went back to the table, tossed the used syringe on it, then waited.

The acid took its time, first making the bound woman throw her head from side to side, her incoherent wails and moans intensifying by the minute, then she finally began seizing, her brain tissues slowly being eaten away, dissolved by the acid. Sam watched in fascination, like an artist standing in awe in front of his newest creation, as the woman's body shook, as if her limbs suddenly gained a life of their own. She began foaming from whatever was left of her mouth, blood trickling out of her nose, eye sockets and ears. Her body couldn't handle too much of this, however, and after several minutes of unbearable agony, the acid shut her brain down, coming as close as it was possible in Hell to killing her.

But since there was no such thing as death down here, Sam waited a minute or two while he looked for his next tool, before he snapped his fingers and, just like that, the woman that every doctor would have labeled as clinically dead gasped, then began coughing up blood, her body whole again, returning back to normal. Perks of Hell: you could always go back from a makeover.

"What… Oh God, why?" were the first things out of her mouth as she regained consciousness and looked at Sam, her eyes widening and lips trembling in terrible fear.

It seemed that the weight and reality of the situation finally sunk in for the woman who, after having to suffer through the first set of tortures, realized there was no going back anymore, no matter how much she begged for mercy.

"Please, God can't hear you. And, even if he could, I can tell you that he doesn't give a flying crap about you and your pain," Sam sneered, then stepped closer to the woman and looked her over, his black eyes stopping at her lips, again. "Say, have you ever been to a drinking contest?"

The woman blinked, probably wanting nothing more than to just disappear, to gain superhuman strength and beat the demon up, but that being impossible, she simply shook her head and bit down on her bottom lip, which wouldn't stop quivering. Sam nodded, patting her cheek as he turned on his heel and walked to the table, then when he stopped in front of the woman again, he had a large white funnel in one hand, and a red gasoline bottle in the other.

"No… _nonononono_ please, no!" the woman cried desperately, probably knowing that her pleas were useless but still couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Oh, no need to freak out," Sam said, a deep, dark chuckle leaving him as he raised the funnel and waved it in front of the woman, making her pull at the chains in terror, which still refused to magically break and free her from her misery. "Anyway, how about playing a game?" the demon asked, tilting his head and grinning in a crooked and inviting way. "Your very first drinking game. It's gonna be fun, you'll see…"

"Wai—" she tried to protest, but Sam wouldn't have any of it.

This time, he used his demon powers to keep her jaws from closing as he shoved the funnel in her mouth, nearly choking her in the process but not caring. He pushed the funnel so far down her mouth that the wider end nearly disappeared in her throat, her constant gagging and the tears leaving her eyes indicating that her throat muscles were probably convulsing around the slim bottom of the funnel, wanting the foreign object out.

But it wasn't like the woman could have spit the funnel out, not with the invisible force keeping it in her mouth, and she watched the demon with wide, terrified eyes as he took a hold of the gasoline bottle with both hands, and raised it to her mouth.

"Say 'aah'," the demon teased, then without wasting another second, he unscrewed the lid and began pouring liquid gasoline into the funnel, and down the woman's throat.

Her shrieks of panic quickly turned into gagging and choking sounds, the gasoline burning her throat, and the smell of it her nose. Sam grinned in amusement as she moved her head from side to side, trying to escape from the deadly liquid, but all of her efforts were in vain, Sam not missing one drop of the strong smelling, toxic petrol. He managed to empty the whole bottle, a gallon of gasoline now sitting in the woman's stomach, the stench of it filling the whole cell. Sam shook the bottle and, when he made sure that nothing was left, dropped it somewhere near the table.

Meanwhile, the woman couldn't stop heaving and gagging, the funnel still in her mouth stopping her from emptying her stomach on the damp floor. Her body shook and convulsed from time to time, rejecting the gasoline, which was surely burning and upsetting her stomach.

She gasped and groaned, began crying again while still gagging, the situation she was in probably breaking every human's heart, if they'd have known about it. The old Sam Winchester would have, surely, saved her. He always put others' lives before his, ignoring any danger that came with a hunt, the family business being his life.

This version, however… This Sam tortured those that old Sam saved, became the thing that his old self would have hated and shot on sight, enjoyed the things that his human self would have despised. And he loved it, this thrill, this complete freedom, this undeniable addiction to everything dark and evil, just like his very soul.

He felt redeemed.

"Burns, doesn't it? Like strong alcohol," Sam purred, running his fingers through the trembling woman's disheveled hair. He wondered, for a moment, if he should take this further or just move on to the next object, but after a while he decide that it would have been too much of a waste to just stop here. So after patting the woman's head reassuringly, which should have been a clear sign that something awful was about to happen, the demon took his sweet time as he walked to the table, and picked up a small object.

Upon returning, the woman noticed what Sam was holding in his hand, and went crazy. She shook her head, then lowered it as much as possible, in hopes of making it difficult for the demon to get to her mouth, which was such a naïve thought even Sam had to laugh.

"Really? You should have learned by now that nothing you do, no matter what or how hard you try, will stop the inevitable," he commented as he ran his thumb along the spark wheel, eager to use it already. "You know, I don't necessarily have to use this. I could just as easily use my powers, since fire is our friend, so trying to hide your mouth is practically useless."

She sniffled, sobbing silently as she raised her head an looked pleadingly at the grinning demon, then at the lighter he held in his hand, and let out a small sound of despair, finally realizing her inevitable doom.

"Good. Now, for the flaming cocktail…" Sam teased as he took a hold of the woman's chin, then lit the lighter.

He knew he only had to touch a small portion of her mouth, since there was a direct line of gasoline leading down to her stomach, which would catch on fire and burn everything. And if the fire was to go out when reaching the inside of the woman's body, well, the demon would take care of that too, reviving the fire being the least he could do.

So with all that in mind, Sam moved the wavering flame closer to the sobbing woman, and when the lighter got close enough to the funnel, he watched in fascination as the whole thing caught on fire, the gasoline feeding the flames as they began burning the plastic object and, very soon, the screaming woman's lips, her flesh.

The demon took a step back to take in the amazing sight, the flame reflecting in his black eyes, and his face broke into a malicious, wicked smile. He now understood why demons loved fire so much; it was such a beautiful thing, as it ate away at any and everything, the way it scorched the skin leaving Sam speechless. The sound of sizzling flesh, the strong smell of burnt meat and the smoke coming from the shrieking woman made him laugh, a cackling that he couldn't stop, only after the woman's screams of anguish and pain became louder, overwhelming his laugh and echoing off the walls.

The flame did a great job at causing the woman an unbelievable amount of suffering, the fiery beast completely boiling and blistering her insides, making even the simplest act of breathing a true nightmare. As it gradually died down, Sam could take a closer and better look at what was done to the woman and, upon noticing the blackened flesh, couldn't stop the dark, sadistic smile that split his face.

"Poor soul… Not good with fire, are we?" the demon mocked, poking at the melted remains of the funnel, then peeled it away from the woman's skin, reveling in the way pieces of her burnt flesh stuck to the plastic and tore from her lips as Sam pulled the object out.

The woman wasn't capable of making sounds anymore, her vocal cords surely burnt away, but even though she couldn't curse and scream at the demon, her eyes were expressive enough to show the amount of pain and hatred she felt towards her evildoer. Sam didn't mind, though, and instead of feeling bad or pitying her, he just winked at the mutilated woman, enjoying the look of scorn and loathe in her eyes.

"So, we got you to drink, but there's something missing," he said suddenly, tapping his chin with a finger as if he was thinking, then held his index finger up as a wide smile appeared on his face. "I know! A drinking party is never complete without some dancing." Sam paused, looking at the woman with a wicked and malevolent look on his face, then smirked. "So, milady, care for a dance?"

The woman couldn't have protested even if she wanted to, the ability to speak and move taken away from her, as the pain she felt was so great that shaking her head would have been unnecessary suffering. All she could do was watch the demon with mournful eyes, as he raised his hand like some kind of orchestra conductor, and suddenly, there was a loud crack echoing through the room.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Sam chuckled, moving his hand up and down, left and right and round and round, all the while controlling the woman's body parts, but not the same way as he controlled the demons.

No, the way he moved the poor woman's limbs caused bones to break, joints to separate and flesh to tear. He twisted her limbs to unnatural angles as he moved his hands, using his powers to break an arm here, to snap a bone there, and to create something not even remotely human from the once normal woman's body, a sick joke of the human body that could easily fit into a freak show.

Proud of his work, Sam studied the atrocity for a while longer before he snapped his fingers, and the woman was back to normal again, panting and looking around with wide, terror-stricken eyes.

"Haven't you had enough of this? When, just…when will this stop?!" she bellowed, angrily pulling at her chains and glaring at the demon, who just snickered and slowly ran his tongue across his lower lip. Stepping closer to the woman, he leaned in and whispered, "This pain, your suffering, will never end. And I'm going to enjoy every single second of it…"

"You monster," the woman sobbed, sniffling as she turned her head away from the smirking demon, and closed her eyes in hopes of ignoring her situation, of being able to escape this reality and waking up somewhere else, this horrible Hell being just a nightmare.

But that wasn't the case, and they both knew that.

"Oh, you have no idea," Sam concurred as he picked up a scalpel, careful to choose one that had a larger blade, since in order to carry out his next torture, he needed something precise but also effective, something that could cut through skin and meat just as easily.

He turned the small object in his hand, watching as the warm light reflected on its clean, stainless steel blade, and imagined it covered in blood, drops of crimson fluid running down the blade and dripping onto the floor.

Sam smiled at the thought and slowly walked back to the woman, like a shadow, a vow of something worse than death. He looked up and down the woman's body, then moved the scalpel to her throat, the poor soul making a muffled, weak sound as she tilted her head back, trying to get as far away from the sharp object as possible.

However all her efforts were in vain, as the demon began moving the scalpel towards her chest, ever so slowly sliding it down her body, the woman tensing at the feel of the cold steel against—but not breaking—her skin, the hair on her arms standing up from both fear and the tension.

As Sam and his captive made eye contact, the demon's eyes seemed to impossibly darken, a mystifying, wicked glint present in them as he began cutting the woman's thin dress, the noise of fabric tearing the only sound in the cell. She held her breath, watching intently as her dress slowly fell away to reveal her pale skin, which soon began gaining color as the woman's face flushed, a sudden feeling of embarrassment taking over her.

Sam didn't seem to have any interest in the sins of flesh, though, as he just kept on cutting away at her dress, without even glancing at the woman's bare skin, until he reached the end of the fabric. Then, Sam took his time to move the remains of the dress out of the way, completely exposing the woman's chest and stomach, and probably humiliating her in the process. But as always, he didn't give a damn.

And the situation was embarrassing enough for the woman, having to watch as her captor cut away at her dress, but things took a turn to the worse when Sam ran a finger down her stomach, causing the woman to shudder.

"Sensitive, are we?" Sam asked, chuckling as he firmly gripped the woman's waist with one hand, and slowly dipped the cold scalpel in her bellybutton with the other.

None of them moved for a few seconds, then, suddenly, the woman let out a piercing scream, desperately trying to get away from the demon, but his iron grip didn't let up.

She gasped in intense pain, looking down at the scalpel that was now halfway gone, disappearing in her stomach, then glanced at the demon with wide eyes.

"What?" Sam asked, turning the scalpel inside her and gaining an agonized shriek from the woman in return. "Don't worry, we'll be getting down and dirty… Just not _that_ kind of dirty."

"Stop, stop!" she cried as she tried to pry herself out of Sam's grip, but whenever she moved, the thin blade moved with her; then when the demon began cutting her flesh, using the scalpel as a saw as he made a horizontal line on her stomach, the woman went crazy, wailing and howling in unbearable, excruciating pain.

"We just started, and you're already rejecting me? I must say, I'm disappointed," Sam said with feigned sadness, not even trying to outshout the woman's screams of anguish as he kept his work up, slashing her skin and flesh. He cut a straight line to her left side, making an approximately ten centimeters cut from her navel, then did the same thing to the right, ending up with a large, horizontal gash on the woman's stomach. "Nice," he remarked, watching in wonderment as blood flowed from the open wound, trickling down her legs and onto the floor.

The woman's face whitened, blood-loss slowly but gradually rendering her weak as she blinked groggily, keeping her eyes open already posing a problem.

But just as the demon said, cutting her open like this was only just the beginning, and he acted upon those words as he swiftly, without a word or any warning whatsoever, shoved his free hand into the wound, then began rummaging around inside her body.

The woman's eyes flew open, a wretched sound torn from her throat as she felt the hand moving inside her, the pain whitening her vision, and she would have surely passed out at that point—that is, if the demon weren't stopping her from experiencing the smallest of reliefs and forcing her to suffer through every second of his twisted little game. Then, if having a hand _inside_ her body wouldn't have been enough, the demon began gutting her, grabbing her small intestine and ripping it out of her, the pain so overwhelming she couldn't even scream anymore.

"Cat got your tongue?" Sam asked derisively, glancing down at the slippery organ in his hand, and then walked to the table to fetch a bucket. Discarding the scalpel while there, he went back to his victim and placed the bucket to her feet before tossing the intestine inside.

Sam wasn't a great surgeon, the furthest he ever got to opening a body up being the times he spent as a fake doctor, when the case he and his brother were working on called for some bloody measures. But now, like this, he didn't need any special knowledge to have a good time, the well being of his 'patient' not an issue here.

He glanced down at his blood-covered hands and felt the urge to lick his fingers, but stopped, ignoring those misguiding thoughts. It has been a while since the last time he drained a demon, and all that sight of blood was making him crave it, his insatiable hunger growing to a point where he couldn't ignore it any longer, and Sam knew that after he was done with playing, he'd have to look for a demon.

Not wanting to waste any more time, he thrust his hand back into the warm cavern of blood and soft organs, and took a hold of what he supposed was the large intestine, then curled his fingers around the moist, squashy thing before he pulled, tearing the intestine right out of the woman's body. She threw her head back, cries and howls of agony leaving her as more of her organs were ripped out, blood pouring from her open wound and gathering around her feet. Some even dripped into the bucket, where Sam tossed the second intestine after prodding at it for a second.

The next time he reached inside, he noticed how emptying the woman's abdomen left her hollow, yet he still found something round, bean shaped after a while of searching around, already elbow deep inside the howling woman's body.

He felt around the soft organ, then took a hold of it, having to tug a few times before managing to rip it out of the woman. Staring at the bloody mess, he realized that he was probably holding one of her kidneys. Simply discarding it into the bucket without giving it a second glance, Sam went back in search of the other kidney, and this time it didn't take him too long to find it.

He immediately pulled it out, now not even stopping to look at it anymore before dumping it in the bucket and reaching for the gash, wanting to empty her completely and as soon as possible.

He didn't waste much time before his arm was back inside the woman, who at this point, really looked like she wanted to pass out in order to get at least a bit of respite. But since that was impossible, she simply shrieked and cried out in blinding pain, as Sam moved his hand around her insides, looking for the next organ he could rip and tear, separate from the woman's body.

And soon, he found something bigger than the kidneys, with a smooth and relatively hard texture, the size of the organ making it harder for the demon to take a hold of it. He wasn't one to give up that easily, though, so after a while of searching around, he managed to grip it firmly, then pulled as hard as he could, his superhuman strength easily tearing the larger organ out of its safe cocoon of flesh.

Upon a closer look, he realized that he must have severed the woman's liver, from what he remembered from biology class and the uncountable number of times he saw a torn open body. Not actually caring which organ he pulled out from the human Pandora's Box, Sam dumped the slippery organ into the bucket, the wet sound of it hitting the rest of the discarded body parts sending a chill down his spine.

He raised his blood covered hands, watching as gore glistened on his fingers, the sight of dried and sticky blood making him lick his lips hungrily.

Not really seeing any point in removing any more of the woman's organs, his main idea already fulfilled, Sam wiped his hands on his pants before kicking the bucket out of the way, then walked to the table and picked up a bottle.

He brought it back to the woman and, since he wasn't provided with a pair of gloves, had no other choice but to pour the salt into his palm. He hissed, the salt slightly burning him as it touched his skin, but was quick to bury his fist in the woman's wound, before opening his hand and smearing the salt all over her insides.

She gasped at the sudden burning sensation, then began screaming again, her deafening shrieks of pure agony music to Sam's ears, motivating him to continue. He repeated the process, pouring large amounts of salt into his palm, and then letting it out inside the woman's body, the salt surely burning and feeling like sandpaper being scraped against the abused flesh, her insides.

"Please—" she gasped, suddenly coughing up blood and crying in an intense amount of pain. Trying to beg for her torture to stop not exactly working, the woman stayed silent after that, apparently giving up all hopes of redemption and forgiveness, since in Hell no amount of pleading could get anyone anywhere.

However it seemed that she was relatively lucky—aside from the torments she had to go through—because the demon was done. Sam wiped his bloody, salty hands on a piece of cloth, then let out a satisfied sigh as he looked over his very first victim, the first of many souls he would torture in Hell.

"Well," he began, stepping in front of the woman with a sly smirk on his face, "I had a great time. What do you say we do this again sometime?" He chuckled as the woman let out a pathetic little whimper, the devastated sound widening the black eyed demon's smirk. "Come on, we had a great time. And I'm certainly looking forward to our next little…get-together."

Sam winked at the weeping woman, at the tortured soul he introduced to the worst kinds of pain, and he wasn't even close to done.

There were so many souls in Hell, just ready to be opened up and abused, to break from bone to bone, his curiosity on the many different ways how a human body could be taken apart only growing now that he had his first soul. The way she screamed, the knowledge that it was Sam who made her suffer, that he was calling the shots and deciding the amount of pain the soul was going to experience sent a pleasant shudder through his body, the sick and abnormal kind that he loved oh so much…


	6. Chapter VI

**Chapter VI**

After leaving the woman's cell, Sam kept on with his newest hobby, one he began carrying out every day, or whatever a day was in Hell time, and loving it more and more the longer he did it. He started helping out in Hell, _welcoming_ every new soul or just having fun with older ones, always trying out new, different ways of breaking them.

Be it any object or weapon, Sam could get creative, trying out his archery skills on one soul, then puncturing its eardrums with the leftover arrows; setting fire to others and rubbing sandpaper against the charred flesh; cutting around their faces and taking the skin off, successfully creating a mask made out of human skin which, for him, wasn't the least bit disturbing.

Sam wasn't sure how long it had been since he entered Hell, since the first time he felt the demon blood touch his tongue and change his life, but he knew one thing—he loved this life. No guilt, no emotions, nothing that would stop him or weight him down, this unlimited freedom of the mind and soul the best thing he could have asked for. All his life, his conscience made him weaker, his pure soul forbidding him from doing those vicious, sick things he's been yearning for ever since Azazel stepped into his room and dripped demon blood in his mouth. Even as a young child, he had some sort of darkness inside him, and even though Sam never thought much of it, he knew it was there. But at the same time, he recognized that he could never be completely pure, that odd feeling, that darkness inside him stopping him from becoming the hero he always yearned to be.

Now, however, there was nothing stopping him from embracing that hidden, abnormal side of his, which he never dared think about for too long…

"Winchester, that's enough!" the demon hissed, licking its split, blood covered lips as it glared at the other demon, whose eyes shone black in the red light.

"Please, just accept your fate already, like all the others. Fighting it really won't change anything, and you're only prolonging your misery. Not that I mind…" Sam chuckled as he ran his warm tongue along the edge of the blade dripping with the demon's blood. Said demon was backed into a wall and clutching its side, blood stubbornly seeping out from between its fingers.

"You think I'm scared of you?" the demon scoffed, rolling its eyes as a shaky smile crossed its face. "Everybody here sees you as the Prince, Crowley's right hand man, as the 'boy king', but I know how things really are. You're the same misty-eyed hunter you've always been, only now you're taking all that anger and guilt out on us, just trying to hide from your true, weak self. You're neither a monster now, nor have you ever been one… You're just a frightened little boy, a rebellious little prick who'd rather stay in the pits of Hell, inflicting pain on others, than go back and face the facts, to take on the responsibilities of being a weak, puny little _human_."

"Wow." Sam frowned, then smiled a fake sympathetic smile. "And you really do believe what you're saying, don't you?" He shook his head, closing in on the glaring demon as he raised the blade and pressed it against the demon's cheek. "You have no idea how wrong you are."

"Really? Why don't you show me then? Kill me and drink my blood, like the pathetic little infant you really are!" the demon spat, its face splitting into an insane grin. It held eye contact with Sam, making him wonder what the demon was playing at.

It was true, most demons here feared him, ran with their tails tucked between their legs as soon as they saw him, the first ever demon that enjoyed killing and 'eating' other demons. However this one truly seemed to believe what it was saying, how Sam was nothing. And that infuriated him to no end, just as much as it amused him, finally finding someone who was brave enough to not only stand up to him, but to keep on defying him until the very end, not minding the consequences of his actions.

Sam was left wondering what to do, either knife the insolent fiend and drink its blood, or let it live, though only after showing it why the other demons were right to be scared of him.

"Well, I just might—" Sam began, but was cut off by a scream coming from the end of the corridor.

Wails and shrieks of pain were usual, everyday things for Hell, Sam getting used to them ever since he stepped foot into this place of blood and suffering; however this one was different. It most definitely came from another demon and, aside from Sam, nobody else was allowed to kill their comrades unless they wanted to face a pretty pissed off Crowley, which only a suicidal demon would possibly want. So a demon letting out a scream of pain was very rare, surprising and making Sam pull the knife away from the one already pinned against the wall.

He glanced around, and it only took a few seconds before he noticed five demons running towards the direction the scream came from, Sam wanting to follow them, but deciding that it might be too risky, he stayed put, waiting instead. If the demons wouldn't come back, he'd know something was up, but unless they had a demon that went all Norman Bates on them, he didn't feel like wasting his time on little fish.

While waiting, he saw a few other demons emerging from different corridors, whispering and looking spooked.

"If you're not about to have me as your supper, I think I'm gonna leave," the demon against the wall stated, walking away and Sam let it, not in the mood anymore. He could find the demon again if he really wanted to show it its place, but for now, Sam's attention was focused on the strange strings of events going on in front and all around him.

He suddenly heard another scream coming from the same direction the previous one could be heard, then another, and not even five seconds passed before he saw two demons running back, wearing grave and baffled expressions. They went to the other demons waiting at the other side of the hallway and shoved them out of the way, explaining something violently, veins bulging in one of the demon's forehead.

And when one of them glanced at Sam, then immediately averted its eyes, he knew something was up.

"I'm telling you, we gotta tell Crowley! He needs to know he's coming. We need backup and you guys know that a few of us won't be able to take that abomination down!" a demon urged, unaware of Sam closing in on them, and when they finally realized they gained another demon in their group, it was already too late to run.

"What abomination?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he stared at the suspicious demons.

"None of your business, Winchester—"

"There's an attack on Hell, what are you jackasses doing here gossiping?!" The sudden voice cut the previous demon off, as another one ran past them, followed by many other black eyed forms, all of them holding some sort of weapon.

Seriously curious what this whole deal was about, Sam managed to grab one of them and asked, "How many are there?"

However the answer surprised even him.

"Only one," said the demon, before pulling away from Sam's grasp and continuing on its mission to the part of Hell that suddenly became a battlefield.

One demon causing so much trouble was a rare, if not an impossible occurrence in Hell. Except for Sam, of course, him being the only demon needing a whole arsenal to be subdued. He was curious as to who else could possibly turn all these demons into frightened little soldiers, so without wasting any more time, he began walking down the corridor, following the sound of screams that seemed to come more often.

And as he went on, he noticed how everything turned upside down, Hell plunging into chaos. Demons were scattered everywhere, rushing from one place to another, looking confused and angry, or scared. Sam also noticed how every time a demon saw him, it disappeared, or glared at him before turning on its heel and walking away. They were judging him, as if this whole thing was his fault, making him wonder if that really was the case.

Has he done something? Gone too far? Pissed off or killed the wrong demon? Just what exactly was going on, he didn't know, but was determined to find out.

"You little piece of shit!" he heard a demon growl, the sounds of a fight going down audible as Sam neared the end of the corridor.

The hallway led to a corridor where you could only turn right, unless your hobby was walking into walls, and as he got closer to the turn, a demon suddenly limped into his field of vision. It was gripping the wall and leaving a bloody handprint, but then a hand suddenly stabbed it in the back with a knife, flashes coming from the demon before its limp body fell to the floor.

Sam stopped in his tracks, hesitating. Only he could kill a demon like that, no weapon capable of doing that except the one he brought with him, the demon killing knife. Curiosity getting the better of him, he advanced toward the corridor, and as he was about to turn to the right, he nearly collided with a demon.

It fell forward, Sam managing to step out of its way as it collapsed to the floor, gasping and choking on its own blood with an angel blade sticking out of its throat.

An angel blade?

"Sammy?" he heard a familiar voice, and as he turned around, he found himself face to face with his brother.

It was Dean. The real Dean, standing right in front of him, his clothes and skin covered in blood, and a large amount of dead bodies surrounding him. He was panting, staring at Sam with wide, shocked eyes, then smiled and, ignoring the fact that he looked like someone who just stepped out of a Saw movie, pulled the demon into a bone-crushing hug.

He couldn't believe his eyes. Dean was here. This couldn't be happening, _wasn't supposed to happen_. Pushing down the surge of complete and utter panic, Sam hugged his brother back, not knowing what else to do. He could kill him right here and now, snap his neck and not worry about it anymore. But that wasn't how he imagined their reunion, not at all, not like this. It was way too sudden and wrong, Dean not supposed to break through Hell to look for him.

But it was Dean, after all, so Sam wasn't sure what he expected. And many scenarios passed through the demon's head at that moment, so many things, so many ways he could proceed, but none of them seemed good enough. Except for one.

"Dean?" Sam gripped the back of his older brother's shirt as he hugged him, and when they pulled away, he flashed him a dimpled smile. "How?"

His brother grinned, looking around the massacre, and motioned towards the small crack in the wall, the same one Sam had gone through when he entered Hell all those years ago. "I've had the help of an old friend. But come on, we've gotta get out of here before King Douchebag gets here," Dean said urgently, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling him towards the hole.

"Took you long enough," Sam muttered, to what his brother let out a happy chuckle, his eyes beaming with joy as he looked back at his little brother.

"Got you now, Sammy," Dean said reassuringly, before disappearing through the hole. Sam stopped and looked the dark hole over, his eyes turning black as he heard a voice behind him.

"So, what's this?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked around the sea of corpses.

"Dean," Sam answered as he glanced at the demon.

"And what's your plan here? Gonna follow your dear brother back there? You do know he'll find out what you've become, sooner or later. And I'm betting on sooner," the demon warned, narrowing his eyes at the other.

"Yeah, you might be right," Sam agreed, a twisted grin crossing his face as his eyes turned back to hazel. "But I'm a good actor," he said with a shrug, then turned back to the hole with his mind made up.

Betraying and deceiving, making Dean Winchester believe that he finally got his little brother back, then turning on him. That was his plan.

And as he stepped into the black hole, the crack that led to Purgatory, he couldn't wait to see the look on Dean's face when Sam's fingers would wrap around his throat, his eyes turning black while watching the life disappear from his brother's…

Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

—

"You can't be serious," the reaper said, her arms folded in front of her chest as she looked from Castiel to Dean, then at Kevin. A look of annoyance crossed her face as she said, "You're serious."

"Yep," Dean stated. "And you're gonna help us, or we'll tell on you."

"Tell on me?" She threw her hands in the air, looking like she wanted nothing more than to grab the hunter by his shoulders and give him a good shake, but the reaper trap stopped her from doing any of that. "I don't know what you think your relationship with Death is, but last time I heard, he was still pissed at you for trying to bind him to kill your angel buddy standing right next to you."

"Oh come on, Tessa!" Dean rolled his eyes, noticing how uncomfortable Castiel looked all of a sudden. Poor guilt-ridden, antisocial angel. "Sam is stuck in _Hell_ , and you refuse to even think about helping out? We're out of every option. The angels can't help, the demons won't help and neither will your rogue reapers! So there really isn't any other way for us to get him out of there, unless you decide to help us and, last time I checked, you weren't the type to watch while others were in misery. You like to get the job done, quickly and efficiently. Now, this might not be a soul to reap we're talking about, but it's my brother, and you owe us. Please Tessa; we're really needing your help right now."

"I owe you?" She frowned, letting out an irritated sigh. "Listen, yes, you guys have saved me once. But then Death went to the Cage and pulled your brother's soul out, and I also helped you with the test, which you didn't even pass, so none of us really owe you."

"Tessa." Castiel stepped forward, the angel blade suddenly sliding into his hand from the sleeve of his trench coat. "You're an angel as well. You should know what's right and what's wrong. And Sam Winchester getting stuck in Hell is _not_ the way his life should end. The Winchesters might not go to Heaven when their time comes, nobody knows how the future might turn out, but even if they were to go to Hell, this isn't the time for that. Everybody has their time, but Sam… Not now. Not yet."

"So what, you're going to torture me if I don't cooperate?" Tessa asked incredulously, walking to the edge of the trap. "Because that's so honorable. What an angel you are."

"Listen, we tried the nice way, tried asking, but if that's not working, I won't be stopping Cas," Dean said, glancing at his angel friend.

He was prepared to go all the way, torturing an ally not exactly being on his list but, since this was their last chance, Dean wasn't going to back down, no matter what he had to do or how far he'd have to go to find and save his brother. At first, when Castiel told him that he could get a hold of Tessa, Dean felt a surge of hope. But then he remembered how they haven't made contact in years, and wasn't sure how things would go if they were to capture her and ask her a favor. A favor, which turned into a threat now that the angel had the blade out.

At that time, with Tessa hesitating and Castiel ready to commit unspeakable acts to the reaper just to help Dean, to save Sam, the hunter wasn't sure if the plan would work. He had his doubts, many things hinting towards the fact that Sam could never be saved, that Dean would have to bite the bullet. And he wasn't scared to do just that, if push came to shove.

Never would he have thought that not only would the plan work, but that he'd find Sam, walking and talking…

But back then, with the reaper rolling her eyes and having a somewhat disturbing staring contest with Castiel, Dean couldn't have known any of that. However when Tessa sighed and put her hands on her hips, he did feel hope, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Fine, damn it. Fine," Tessa said, surprising them all. "I'll do it. I'll take you to Purgatory, then get you and your—probably traumatized—brother out of there, but that's it. I won't go to Hell if you screw up. I'm only going as far as the monster afterworld, and that's non-negotiable."

"Then we're golden," Dean stated, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but he wouldn't let himself celebrate yet. Not with Sam still in Hell.

"Guess there's no need for this then?" Kevin asked, raising a bowl he never got to use, though looked like he really wanted to. It was some sort of potion that he found, something that could harm demons just as much as reapers. And holding it with a disappointed smile on his face, Kevin looked like a kid whose candy had just got stolen by a clown.

"Nope. Sorry buddy, we'll try your awesome sauce another day. On Crowley, if we're lucky," he said, patting the kid's back reassuringly as Kevin sighed and nodded.

"Alright. I'll go and pour this into a jar or something while you guys do your Rescue from Fort Neugard. Good luck… Seriously," Kevin said, a thin-lipped smile crossing his face.

"Fort…what?" Dean asked in confusion, frowning and glancing at Castiel, but the angel didn't look like he was about to clarify whatever Kevin meant by that.

"Neugard," Kevin stated, as if it made so much sense. "Stormcloaks? Skyrim? I swear, sometimes you guys are worse than those uneducated jocks from school," he sighed, then shook his head, turning around and walking away to leave Dean, Cas and Tessa just standing there in an awkward silence.

"Well I didn't get any smarter." Dean shrugged as he broke the silence, before walking over to the reaper trap Tessa was still in, and stepped on it. "So, you promise you'll help us?"

Tessa nodded, and as far as Dean could tell, she looked sincere enough. He smeared the outer circle of the trap, freeing the reaper, then looked at Castiel with a raise of an eyebrow. "Dude, maybe you should put your blade away now. It's rude to have it out in front of the lady."

Scowling, obviously not getting the joke as always—and Dean not knowing what he expected—the angel hid the blade in his coat, before addressing the reaper. "Thank you, Tessa. And I apologize for my behavior, but…"

"No, I get it," she said. "Your friend is in danger, and I'm your only option left. Any human would have lost their cool over that and, I guess, an angel with human friends is no different."

"Great," Dean exclaimed, clapping his hands together as he looked from one angel to the other. "Then let's go. Can you Houdini me to Purgatory here, or do we have to find a hidden alley decorated with suspicious looking graffiti for it to work?"

 **~...~**

As it turned out, they didn't need to go downtown and find a shady alleyway Dean was talking about for it to work.

He took Tessa to a larger place in the bunker, choosing the dungeon as the perfect place to open a door to Purgatory. Dean stepped back, standing next to Castiel, while watching the reaper look around the place, then when she turned around and motioned for the man to come closer, he took one last look at his angel friend before walking over to the reaper.

"Don't let go of my hand, Dean," Tessa warned as she took the hunter's hand in hers, then closed her eyes.

"I'm holding on tight," Dean said, holding the reaper's hand in one, and the angel killing blade in his other hand, Castiel practically shoving it in his hands before they entered the dungeon. It was good to have overprotective friends, from time to time.

"Alright, here we go," the reaper said, and before Dean could have even thought of an answer, some witty last words, the walls were suddenly stretching and splitting. They gave way to a door, which was emitting a bright light, making him close his eyes.

The next time he opened them, he was standing in Purgatory.

"Oh," was the only thing he managed to say as he looked around the place filled with horrible memories. It hadn't changed one bit. It was gloomy, the stench of fear and death in the air making all the souls trapped here crazy and paranoid. And insanity was the least of their worries, the least of Dean's worries while he'd been in here. It were the eyes, that seemed to be watching him every second, as he breathed, as he blinked, as he remained expressionless no matter what he killed or how he killed it. It was that constant fear that your life could end any moment, the thin line between life and death being that one second you don't notice something, giving the beast in the darkness that opportunity, that final opening for it to jump you and gut you where you stand.

And if you're lucky, you go down without even realizing what happened, without having to feel your entrails being ripped out of your body.

"Dean?" he heard his name, Tessa's voice snapping him out of his trip down memory lane. "Dean, are you okay?" she asked with a hint of worry in her voice, which must have meant that he looked just how he felt.

"No. I mean, yeah, I'm fine. Just tell me where the entrance to Hell is, and I'll be on my way," he said, rubbing his face with his free hand and forcing those dark memories down. He couldn't let his past mess with him, those days and nights of never-ending terror not stopping him from focusing on his brother, on his mission.

"Alright. I'll be waiting here, but you better be back in an hour. I don't want to stay here for too long," she sighed and walked to a tree that was lacking the mysterious stains of blood and other fluids, then leaned against it. "You walk straight, and when you see three trees meeting as one, you'll have your portal. Just move the rocks by that tree, and go through the hole. And if you get lost, just follow the stream."

"Don't worry, I won't get lost here…" Dean muttered, gripping the handle of the angel killing blade as he began walking straight ahead, sharpening his ear for any sounds, a snap of a branch or the echo of a far away chuckle.

Even though he promised himself not get distracted, not to let all those terrible memories get the better of him, he couldn't help but feel that familiar shudder, the high he always got when walking through the woods of Purgatory. He took deep breaths, already seeing the trees Tessa was talking about, and moved straight towards it, not letting himself look over his shoulders like he used to, glancing from left to right like a paranoiac.

When he finally reached them, Dean stopped in front of a large rock embedded between the trees and, after making sure that nobody was watching him from afar, put the blade down and grabbed the rock, grunting as he pulled it out of its place.

And as he did, suddenly there was a huge gust of wind, nearly knocking him off his feet. He took a few steps back, watching as the hole that hid behind the rock sucked in the air around him, serving as some kind of a vacuum. With his resolve strengthened, Dean crouched down and picked up his blade, before stepping forward and into the inviting hole of darkness, the last thing separating him from his brother.


	7. Chapter VII

**Chapter VII**

Dean's next step was in Hell, his eyes widening as he looked around and felt a chill run down his spine. It had been around five years since he'd last been to Hell, and he didn't have any great memories about the time of his stay, with Alastair skinning him alive and such.

Again, his past was distracting him as he glanced around the corridor. He found himself frowning, noticing how the place changed under Crowley's reign. However some things stayed the same, like the irritating heat that you could never get used to, the strong smell of blood, sweat and sulfur, and the miserable cries of pain, the screams of terror echoing through the place. So, all in all, Hell stayed the way it has always been: a horrible nightmare the damned could never wake up from.

And as he wallowed in his bad memories, he felt his heart sink when he thought of Sam. His little brother who had been in here for far too long, having to live through the unimaginable tortures that black eyed dick must have especially chosen for him. Just imagining the amount of pain Sam could have been in… He only just recovered from his hallucinations, the wall in his head breaking and letting all that dark, fucked up shit that happened to him out. His brother saw the Devil even after he was out of the Cage, for fuck's sake! And now, he had to go through all of that again, surely needing some time off after getting out of here.

If Dean would manage to get to him in time, that is. The thought of him failing his little brother not even an option, Dean clenched his jaw as he gripped the blade, and he hasn't even taken one step forward before he saw a demon emerge from around the corner, its eyes immediately shifting to eerie black the second it saw him.

"Dean Winchester? What are you doing here?" the demon asked, then narrowed its black eyes. "Never mind that, I'm going to enjoy ripping your throat out," it growled with a predatory smirk on its face.

"Well, you see, I'm not really into that kinky stuff, so I think I'll pass," he said, winking at the demon, who tilted its head and laughed, then charged at him. It raised a fist and pulled it back, about to punch Dean, but was too blind, not noticing the angel blade behind the hunter's back, and let out a piercing scream when Dean plunged it into its chest. "Yeah, you were coming on too strong for me."

He grinned, pulling the blade out from the demon's body, then stepped aside as he watched it fall to the ground. Knowing that after hearing the demon's girly scream there would be soon a whole demon parade gathering around him, Dean quickly ran for the corner and took a left but, again, found himself in front of two other demons, standing with their hands on their hips.

"Coming here, all alone… I wouldn't have thought that both Winchesters had suicidal tendencies," one of them remarked, to what the other demon snickered, making Dean roll his eyes.

"Great, it's Pinky and the Brain. Just what was missing from my life," he said, smirking when he saw the pissed off look on one of the demon's face, while the other frowned and nudged the other with its elbow.

"What's that pinky thing he's talking about?" the demon asked, but instead of an answer, the other one told him to shut up, using some creative mix of profanities.

"Sorry for annoying your boyfriend," Dean said to the demon that wasn't about to explode from rage, "but I should really get going. Was nice chatting with you."

"Yeah, you're not going anywhere," the other demon hissed through gritted teeth, looking like an attack dog. And that was just what Dean wanted, what he was waiting for, for the demon to lose it and jump him.

He smiled a cocky, arrogant smile, and shrugged. "Let's get it on, then," Dean taunted, taking a few steps backwards as the demon growled and ran after him.

Dean raised the angel blade, about to slash the demon's throat with it, but let out a pained grunt as his arms were seized behind his back, the other demon appearing behind him and grabbing him. It held him tight, while the infuriated demon cracked its knuckles and grinned at the hunter.

"Always wanted to use a human as a punching bag," the demon said, before pulling its fist back and punching Dean square in his jaw.

He growled in annoyance, trying to turn the blade which was still in his trapped hands, but nearly dropped it as he gasped, a horrible pain coming from his abdomen. The demon punched him once, twice, three times in the stomach, before grabbing the hunter by his throat and squeezing. Dean felt dizzy, his vision blurring as the demon tried to crush his throat, cutting off his oxygen, but was able to finally turn the blade and, in a quick, swift motion, he stabbed the demon behind him, drawing a cry of pain from it.

That awful sound acting as a good distraction, the other demon's grip on Dean's throat weakened, letting the hunter get the upper hand.

Dean spun around, kicking the wailing demon in the nuts, before finishing the job with a blade to the heart. Hearing the other demon's frustrated growl from behind, he ducked just when it tried to punch him, probably gaining some momentum with the swing because the next second the demon was falling forward and past Dean, faceplanting the floor.

"You little piece of—" the demon began, getting up from the floor, but was cut off by a foot to the face. Dean crushed the mouthy demon's head into the floor, then straddled its waist as he went crazy on its face.

A little payback for punching the living hell out of him.

When he was done beating the demon up, Dean slit its throat, successfully getting hit by a stream of blood gushing from the gaping wound, and making the hunter groan in disgust.

"Great," he muttered, sighing as he got to his feet and, of course, what else could he have turned around to, than five more demons standing at the end of the corridor, watching him with narrow, glaring eyes.

"And the Winchesters just keep coming…" a demon commented, and Dean was seriously starting to have enough of the non-stop sassy remarks, so without wasting another second in fear of hearing one more witty comment, he threw the angel blade at one of the demons, impaling it right in the forehead.

He, and the four demons left, watched as the limp body fell to the ground, a silence following its impact. Then as if somebody rang a bell, two on them ran off, while the remaining two stepped over the corpse, closing in on Dean. With the blade still in the dead demon's forehead, the hunter didn't have any weapons. And he couldn't just magically create one, unless he was to steal the axe one of the demons was holding.

Great, now he had to fight demonic axe murderers.

The other demon had something in its hands too, however for all Dean tried, he couldn't identify it. It looked like a buzz saw attached to some sort of metal rod, which was covered in spikes. Whatever that demon spawn of a weapon it was, it definitely suited Hell, that was sure.

"Let's talk it out, boys," Dean raised his empty hands as he backed into a wall, nearly tripping over a body in the process.

He waited as the demons followed him, and when the one he's been eyeing got close enough, he started reciting an exorcism which made the demons immediately attack him. And as they swung their weapons, Dean stepped out of the way and quickly grabbed one of the demons by its wrist, then moved it towards its face, making the demon hit itself right in the head with the axe. He was pretty tempted to ask the demon why it was hitting itself, but when he saw the other one's intense glare, he decided to leave his own cocky remarks for later.

Dean pulled the axe out of the demon's head, pushing its corpse out of the way just in time to block the buzz saw that was heading right towards his neck. Their weapons collided, and Dean's eyes widened as the saw suddenly roared to life, rotating right in front of his face in a rather menacing way.

He took a step back with the demon grinning at him. "What is it, scared of sharp toys?"

Two black eyes stared at him, mocking him, as the demon raised its mutant spiked saw weapon in the air, then instantly brought it down. Dean managed to get out of the way, but not soon enough, the buzz saw cutting his arm and nearly severing a part of his flesh. He grabbed his aching arm, but ignored the bleeding when he noticed how the demon's weapon got stuck in the wall and wasn't cooperating with the fiend, not quite wanting to get out, no matter how much the demon pulled at it.

Seeing an opening, Dean walked behind the demon and just when it was about to turn around, he swung at its neck, severing its head and watching it land gracelessly on the floor and roll away.

After several failed tries of pulling it out of the wall, Dean ignored the impaled weapon and went to fetch his own instead. He yanked the angel blade out of the dead demon's forehead, looking at the many corpses around him, and smiled. It looked like he was still a killing machine, as always. His brisk victorious mood didn't last long, though, as he remembered the reason he was here for, recalling it probably around the same time he heard the sounds of incoming trouble. Rolling his eyes—since he really didn't have time to send more demons to their second grave, no matter how much he enjoyed it—Dean discarded the axe and gripped the angel blade instead, deciding that it was time to get a move on.

However hurrying wasn't too easy with an army of demons blocking his way.

"Aw come on guys, don't you have anything better to do?" Dean asked in exasperation, glaring at the demons in front of him.

"Don't get cocky, Winchester," one of the four demons said, though when it noticed the massacre, the bloody mess around the hunter, the wicked grin on its face quickly withered.

Seeing how the demon was hesitating, Dean felt a wave of pride flood his body, and stepped forward, wagging the angel blade in front of him.

"Or what? You're gonna tell on me to Crowley?" Dean taunted, daring them to attack, to do something, and he didn't have to wait long before three of them did while one simply disappeared.

They came at him at the same time, swinging their weapons and, even though Dean managed to dodge and block most of them, he still felt his skin getting cut, his warm blood seeping out from some of the wounds.

He slashed and punched, kicked and tore, clawed and squeezed until he was coughing up blood, but he didn't care, he was going to gut these black eyed sons of bitches, no matter what it took. He was going to get to his brother. After he killed the first demon by plunging the bade right into its eye, he grabbed another one's head and bashed it into the wall, again and again, until the third demon grabbed him by his shoulders and hurled him away, using its powers to keep him against the wall, which was exactly what Dean feared.

He couldn't move, and the damn blade fell out of his hand when his back hit the wall. In a moment of panic he tried moving his head, but the demon whose forehead was covered in blood flicked its wrist and the invisible force made him hit the back of his head against the wall. Payback was a bitch.

"Poor little hunter, becoming the hunted," the demon mocked, flashing a bloody smile at Dean while the other one picked up the blade, turning it in its hand and, stepping in front of Dean, raising it to his chest.

"How do you think it would feel, having this neat little thing go through your body? I bet it would slide into your chest real smoothly, killing you nice and bloody. Just the way I like it," the demon hissed, like a venomous snake, as it slowly ran the tip of the blade down the hunter's body, stopping at his belt and making Dean really uncomfortable.

"I bet you fantasize about shoving pointy things into bodies every night, don't you? You sick, sick animal."

Dean grinned, successfully making the demon angry, which in turn caused its power over the man to waver. Dean jumped at the chance, and just when the pissed off demon was about to act upon its words, he raised his knee and kneed the thing in the stomach, before snatching the blade from it and plunging it into its chest, Dean's grin widening as he saw the shocked look on the demon's face.

"Yeah. Karma," Dean sneered, jerking the blade out of the flickering demon's body as it fell to the ground, then turned towards the last one. "Ready for your share?" he asked, winking at the demon.

"You little piece of shit!" the demon growled, its eyebrows knitting into a scowl as it advanced on the hunter, glaring daggers at him. Then in a swift motion, the demon crouched down to pick up the axe Dean had discarded, but the hunter was faster, kicking the other right in the face and setting it off balance.

It fell on its ass, snarling at the man before letting out a pained growl as Dean stabbed its leg, however he quickly got a taste of his own medicine when the demon kicked him right back. It got to its feet, clutching its bleeding leg, then after a moment of hesitation it turned tail and ran.

At least it would have, if Dean wouldn't have stuck the angel blade in its back the moment it turned around and began limping away. Son of a bitch trying to escape.

"Finally," Dean said, letting out a sigh of relief as he looked around and found that no pairs of black eyes were trying to jump him anymore; however just when he remembered the fourth demon, the one that ran off at the beginning, he heard a voice from behind.

"Winches—" the demon growled, then started gasping and choking as Dean didn't even wait for the thing to finish talking. He just grabbed it and shoved the blade through its throat, seriously having enough of the never ending wave of demons.

He watched as the demon fell forward and then nearly collided with another one as it collapsed to the floor, choking on its own blood. And probably the blade.

And just when Dean was about to throw his hands in the air in frustration, he realized that the man standing next to the gasping demon wasn't another demon.

It was his brother.

"Sammy?" he asked in shock, his eyes widening, and he couldn't stop the pathetic, overjoyed smile that crossed his face.

He couldn't fucking believe his eyes, and wasn't even thinking as he walked forward in a daze and pulled his little brother, his alive little brother into a hug, which he never really wanted to stop. He wasn't going to cry, forbade himself from crying, but he sure felt like burying his face in Sam's shoulder and shedding a few manly tears, because here he was. Dean found Sam.

Or more like the opposite, since it was Sam who appeared out of nowhere.

"Dean?" Sam asked after Dean managed to convince himself that it was probably time to stop the hug. He smiled, one of those dimpled smiles that made Dean's heart melt. Even though he wasn't a believer, Dean found himself thanking whatever deity for this moment, for being able to see his brother again, and it was at this moment he realized how much he missed Sam. "How?" his brother asked, a look of happiness and disbelief crossing his face.

He grinned, thought that he probably wouldn't be able to stop grinning for a while, and after looking around the corridor that resembled a slaughterhouse, he motioned towards the crack in the wall next to a stone pillar. "I've had the help of an old friend. But come on, we've gotta get out of here before King Douchebag gets here," Dean urged, really wanting to get out of this place that stunk of blood and sulfur, even more now that he was surrounded by dead demons.

He took a hold of his brother's arm, not wanting to waste any more time, and began dragging him towards the gaping hole.

"Took you long enough," he heard Sam mutter, and Dean couldn't help but chuckle, memories flooding his brain. He felt his heart swell, having his brother back making him smile. And it looked like Sam didn't change at all, his smart-ass self just making the hunter happier.

He looked back at Sam, stopping in front of the crack that led to Purgatory, and smiled. "Got you now, Sammy," he said reassuringly, knowing that he should have saved his brother sooner, that Hell must have messed with Sam's head, like it always did, but it looked like his brother was a survivor.

Which Dean didn't believe for one second, knowing how Sam Winchester was just as good as him at burying dark crap and pretending as if nothing was wrong, but he was determined to fix it. To fix Sam, fix everything after they got out of this corrupted place.

Just like they always did.

Dean flashed one last smile at his brother before disappearing in the hole, and in the next moment he was standing in Purgatory. He looked around, saw no signs of monsters and patted his pockets, then his coat for something missing, and when he realized what it was, he couldn't help but facepalm himself. He left the angel blade in Hell, and it wasn't like he was going to go back there just for the weapon, but Cas was going to be so pissed at him for leaving it there.

Ah well, no mission's flawless.

He let out a sigh, waiting for Sam, but after he still didn't emerge from the hole, Dean was beginning to worry and really consider going back there. He didn't have to, thank god or whoever was out there, because the next moment he saw his brother stepping out of the hole.

"I guess you didn't pick up the blade I left there, huh?" Dean asked, glancing at his brother's empty hands. Sam blinked, looked back at the hole, and then shrugged.

"No. Want me to go back?" he asked, frowning, and it sounded like he was seriously considering going back there, which Dean wasn't going to allow, never in his wildest dreams.

"No way, I'll just tell Cas that a demon stole it. You're not going back there, you hear me?" Dean said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing. He looked straight into those hazel eyes, his own green ones serious and stern.

"Cas…?" Sam asked, looking a bit taken aback, as if Dean had just told him that there was a clown hiding behind one of these trees. He licked his lips nervously, hiding his hands in his pockets, his behavior making the older hunter worry.

"Yeah. You know, wears a trench coat and isn't really pop culture savvy?" Dean asked, furrowing his brow as he watched Sam's expression turn from a mix of fear and anxiousness to calm and oddly composed. "Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I remember Cas, that's not it. I just didn't know he was here," Sam muttered, glancing around the forest.

"Well he's not _here_ per se, but is waiting for us in the bunker. But Tessa's here, by the way. She was the one who got me in here, after a bit of convincing," he explained, motioning for Sam to follow as he began walking back to where their reaper express was waiting.

"Tessa? How did you manage to… You know what, don't tell me. I don't want to know what you mean by 'convincing'," Sam sighed as he walked after his brother, smirking when Dean rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, I'm not a sadist. I don't get off on torturing female reapers, no matter how pretty they are," he said, wiggling his eyebrows and making Sam laugh. "No, I didn't beat her up, if that's what you're implying. And neither did Cas, though he was ready to carve a few nice little symbols in her flesh if good cop wouldn't have worked out."

"Good." Sam nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and he opened his mouth to add something, but quickly shut it as he stopped in his tracks, frozen in place.

"What is it?" Dean asked, watching as his brother glanced around like an animal on high alert, then immediately understood what was going on when Sam held up a finger to his lips, signaling for Dean to stay quiet.

Monsters.

Dean felt a drop of sweat roll down his temple as he looked around, listening for any movement, but aside from his and Sam's breathing he couldn't hear anything. Then suddenly, he found himself on the ground, his brother pushing him down as a round object flew past them.

"You could have warned me!" Dean complained, rubbing the back of his head which he skillfully hit on a rock, pretty sure that it was placed there just for him. Rocks could be evil.

"No time for that," Sam said as he got to his feet, glancing at the blade impaled in a tree not far away from them. Dean soon followed his little brother's example, standing up but, even now, he couldn't hear or see anything, making him wonder how Sam managed to notice something that not even he could, a man that has spent a whole year in Purgatory.

But Dean never really got to the point of asking Sam about his superhuman senses, as a growl got their attention, coming from above and, suddenly, there were bodies raining from the sky. At least that's how it looked as the werewolves jumped down from the branches they've been crouching on, hiding and watching them all this time.

"Oh, just fantastic," Dean sighed as he stood back to back with his brother, none of them having any weapons.

Five werewolves surrounded them, growling and snarling, licking their lips that seemed to have dried blood smeared all over them. And as they moved closer to them, the horrible stench of rotten meat and death hit Dean, making him wrinkle his nose.

"Dean Winchester," one of them hissed, narrowing its eyes. "I remember you. You were the human everybody was talking about. But I bet they were all just a bunch of cowards, because now that I look at you, all I can see is a frightened little piece of meat." It laughed, the other werewolves joining it in a mocking laughter.

"I don't think you'll be laughing when I'll show you how your insides look like," his little brother spat, and the laughter subsided, the leader wolf walking around Dean to take a look at Sam.

"Is that so?" The werewolf glared at Sam, then tilted its head and sniffed the air, its eyes suddenly widening. "Oh? I see…"

It chuckled, stepping in front of the younger hunter, and Dean had to look over his shoulder to see what the hell was going on. The beast raised its knife and pressed it against his little brother's throat, while wearing an ear to ear grin, then whispered, "I never really liked your kind."

And it was probably about to slash his brother's throat, but a howl of pain drew all of their attention. It came from one of the wolves, which was now sprawled on the ground with a chunk of its flesh missing from its neck. The other wolves growled and attacked the shadowy figure that hissed at them in return and severed their heads, one after another, sometimes biting large pieces out of them before separating limbs from torso.

"Damn you, fucking vampire," the leader wolf barked, glancing around the massacre, then looked at Sam and Dean. "You got lucky, meat," the werewolf said, before turning on its heel and disappearing into the woods.

Confused as to what just happened, Dean took in the gruesome sight, and when the figure stood up from a corpse it was looting and turned around, the hunter couldn't believe his eyes.

"Long time no see, brother," Benny said, flashing a bloody grin as his fangs disappeared in his gums. "Though I really didn't think we'd meet this soon. Or that we'd meet again, at all."

"Benny?" Dean blinked, smiling as he walked over to his friend and, after a moment of looking the vampire over, hugged him.

This day was getting better and better, with reunions everywhere, and Dean wasn't minding any of it at all. Benny chuckled as he hugged him back, patting his back and when they pulled away, the vampire smirked.

"In the flesh," he said, then looked over Dean's shoulder at his little brother, who seemed to be standing there awkwardly, in the middle of a corpse circle. "Sam. I never got to save you, pal."

Shaking his head, Sam smiled a thin lipped smile as he shrugged. "Got a little caught up in Hell. But…how come you're here? Last I heard, you were out in the open, in the normal world, slurping on blood juice boxes."

"Oh yeah, that place didn't agree with me. I like it more here, so I guess I should thank your brother for chopping my head off."

Benny winked at Dean, who suddenly felt his heart sink. He completely forgot about his friend, the one he apparently killed for nothing.

"Sorry Benny. I wouldn't have done it if I knew that Crowley held my brother captive in Hell. It was an unnecessary sacrifice, but don't worry, we'll get you out of here," Dean promised, however the look on Benny's face as he smiled and shook his head suggested that he had other plans.

"Thank you brother, for everything. And I meant it. But…" The vampire sighed, looking around the deadly quiet forest, and smiled. "This is where I'm supposed to be, you know? Here, everything is so pure, and I don't need to feed. I don't get that hunger, the one I can't stop, and I can just _live_ without anything weighting me down. So thank you for the ride, but I'll pass this time."

Dean didn't know what to say, had a short inner battle, but in the end he just nodded in understanding. "Alright. If that's what you want, then we won't be bothering you. As long as you're enjoying yourself."

"You have no idea." Benny chuckled, then shook the hunter's hand. Dean really would have liked for his friend to come with them, but if staying was what he wanted, then it wasn't the man's place to stop the vampire.

"Alright, let's keep moving then," Dean said, looking back at Sam and feeling a bit bad for ignoring his probably traumatized little brother. Sam looked up from the corpse he was staring at, then nodded and walked over to Dean, stopping in front of the vampire.

"Thanks for killing the wolves," he said, holding out his hand. "I guess you're not that bad, after all."

"Why, thank _you_." Benny smirked, took Sam's hand in his, and shook it.

But something was off. Dean wasn't sure what, but the way his friend looked at Sam, and that odd, half smile on his brother's face wasn't quite right. Not to mention the tension in the air, as the hunter and vampire shook hands.

Not knowing what caused the sudden impending doom feeling, and not liking it either, Dean cleared his throat and nodded towards the stream. "Okay, let's go. We need to get you outta here as soon as possible, since I'm pretty sure you're not a hundred percent okay in the head after god knows how many years in Hell," Dean said, grabbing his brother's arm, and practically dragged him to where Tessa was.

"Have a safe trip, boys!" They could hear Benny's voice as they walked following the stream, and when they were out of earshot, Dean turned to Sam and raised an eyebrow.

"So, what was all that about?" he asked curiously, watching his brother intently so he couldn't miss the small twitch in Sam's mouth as he visibly suppressed a smile.

"Nothing, you know I don't get along with your vampire friend. And I don't like how he always calls you 'brother'," Sam said as he kept on walking, not even looking at Dean when he answered.

That took Dean by surprise, however he couldn't really believe that that was it. "So…you're saying you're jealous?" he joked, making his little brother chuckle, and for a second Dean managed to believe that things were back to normal.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever makes you happy, your majesty." Sam grinned and even bowed his head.

"Please, I'm your prince in shining armor. And the role of a princess would totally fit you, what with that hair of yours."

"Hey, you might insult me, but don't you dare bad-mouth my hair."

"My most sincere apologies, you big girl."

"You know where you can shove your apologies, grandpa."

"Sasquatch."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn't hold the bubble of laughter in, and neither could Dean. It felt so great, how they seemed to be back to normal, picking at each other like kids. Like before. Dean knew something was wrong, could feel it, but didn't know what it was. Not exactly. However he was going to find out, sooner or later, because there was no way that Sam came back from Hell without that place leaving a mark on him, a scar deep in his mind and in his very soul. That's what Hell does; it drowns anyone that sets foot in that fiery pit, swallows them up and if one's lucky enough to manage to escape, they're never the same as when they entered.

Dean was going to help Sam get through this, whatever _this_ was, that seemed to be eating away at his little brother. He didn't go through Hell, in every sense of the term, to give up now.

Because be it Heaven or Hell, or even Purgatory, Dean wasn't going to let anything stop him from protecting his little brother. He promised himself that, the very day he carried Sammy out of their burning house.


	8. Chapter VIII

**Chapter VIII**

Well, shit.

At this rate, Sam's cover was going to get blown way sooner than he expected. He planned on pulling Dean's strings for a few weeks, maybe even months, before revealing what he has become and kill him, but with all these people in his way, a change of plans might be inevitable.

The meeting with the vampire went better than expected, though Sam was sure that Benny could smell the poisonous, sulfuric blood in his veins, judging from the way he looked at him; and when they shook hands, Sam recognized what he did. It was the exact same thing the hunter had done when they first met. Benny was feeling for a pulse as they shook hands. But since Sam never really died, he still had a pulse, although that didn't fool the vampire.

No, Benny knew. And Sam knew that Benny knew that Sam knew that… Anyway, they had a silent agreement with that handshake, that if Benny were to reveal just how much Sam had changed, the demon would rip his head off. It was a loud and clear message, as Sam looked into the vampire's eyes, and there was the hint of the briefest nod from the monster, signaling his cooperation no matter how much he probably wanted to warn Dean.

But with Benny out of the picture, it wasn't like Sam was free to live his life. When Dean mentioned Castiel, Sam felt his blood run cold, and he was positive his heart stopped for a few seconds. Not like he really needed a heart to live anymore, but still.

He completely forgot about the angel, and the fact that he was waiting for them in the bunker just made everything worse. Like that, Sam could neither run nor hide, Castiel able to see through him the second they'd make eye contact. Angels could see the demons' true face, and no demon could hide from them, not even Sam. And he wouldn't be able get Cas to keep his mouth shut, the angel too noble to keep something like that from Dean. And also, Sam was Cas's friend, and the angel would never let him stay the way he was now, as a black eyed demon.

Both Dean and Castiel would try and help him, lock him in the dungeon while looking for a way to save him, but Sam knew there was no such thing. Demons couldn't be cured, after all.

So not only will he have to come face to face with an angel, someone who once was his friend, but he'll have to somehow convince him that he was fine, was most definitely _not_ a demon and that they could trust him. Yeah, sure.

But then again, he might not even be able to go that far, since as Dean said, Tessa was their designated taxi driver. And Tessa was a reaper, and reapers were angels themselves. So he might have had a close call with Benny, but Tessa would be even worse, and he wasn't quite sure how he was going to proceed.

All of this pressure was making his head hurt, and he had a constant knot in his stomach as he walked next to his unsuspecting brother, while chewing at his bottom lip. At least he managed to fool Dean, and he was truly proud of his acting skills.

The old Sam Winchester, the emotional, puppy eyed, righteous hunter was an easy act to pull off, if you were that very person a few years ago. He remembered what he used to say, since becoming a demon didn't come with instant amnesia, and behaving like his past self was easier than he would have thought.

Sure, he had to fake a few smiles and laughs but, the way he saw it, he was pretty damn good at it. Downright awesome.

"There." Dean nodded towards a tree, and as Sam narrowed his eyes, he saw the reaper leaning against it, looking bored out of her mind. The demon swallowed and took a deep breath, prepared for the worst as they walked over to Tessa, the reaper glancing at them with an annoyed expression.

"Finally!" she rolled her eyes, stepping away from the tree. "I thought you'd never come back. Why does saving your brother take an hour? Winchesters…"

"Hey, you were the one who told me to make it back in an hour in the first place," Dean said, raising an eyebrow as they stopped in front of the reaper. "Anyway, you don't have to wait anymore. We wanna get out of here as fast as possible."

"Sure, let me just break a few more Reaper Laws, while hoping that Death won't notice how I've gone rogue for the two of you. And Death always knows about everything." She sighed, have a quick glaring contest with Dean, then looked at Sam.

And there it was. The _look_. Tessa blinked a few times, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing, then frowned and was about to say something as she opened her mouth, but Sam stepped forward and stopped her from committing a grave mistake.

"Tessa, long time no see," he said hurriedly, a predatory smile crossing his face.

He stood in front of her in a way only she could see his face, with his back to Dean, so he didn't have to worry about his brother seeing the way the demon's eyes had an evil glint in them as his smile turned into a smirk, a dangerous one, guaranteeing things worse than death if she were to say a word.

And she must have got the message, because the reaper shook her head, glancing from Sam to Dean.

"I swear you Winchesters will be the death of me. And when we reapers die, we can't magically come back," Tessa said, before holding her hands out for the boys. "Come on, I haven't got all day. Let's get your asses back to where they belong."

"Feisty." Dean chuckled, earning a piercing glare from the reaper.

They took Tessa's hands after exchanging a look of uncertainty, Sam just glad that the reaper was smart enough not to run her mouth, and it didn't take long before they were standing in the bunker, all three of them.

Though when Sam realized _where_ they were, he froze in place, not daring to move.

"Alright, that's it for me boys," Tessa stated, crossing the dungeon. "I'm out, and next time you call me… Just don't call me at all," she said, glancing at Sam before disappearing. He could have sworn he saw regret, and sadness, in those eyes.

"Well, isn't she a sweet flower," Dean said, patting Sam on the back, then started walking out of the room, however stopped upon realizing that his little brother wasn't moving. And crap, Sam really didn't want to move indeed. "Sam?"

"Uh, I'm fine, you go ahead," Sam lied, flashing a reassuring smile at Dean and hoping that it would work, because he was in a quite shitty situation.

From all the places in the bunker, they had to land here, in the dungeon, which had a devil's trap right in the middle of the room. Sam managed not to step right into it as Tessa brought them back, but he nearly did, only a few inches separating him from the white line. And now, there he was, trapped between the sign and the wall behind him. The only way he could cross the room was for him to walk around it, and he couldn't do something so suspicious while Dean was watching him, so he just stood there, seriously considering a change of plans.

"Don't faint on me or anything though, okay?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes as he watched Sam. "I'm gonna go look for Cas, so let's meet in the library," he said, before turning around and walking out.

Sam watched his brother go and, like a complete maniac, couldn't help but laugh as he leaned against the wall, feeling relief crashing over him. He did it. He got away with it, for now, and he was so fucking glad.

However now came the hardest part. What was he to do with the angel?

"Damn it…" Sam groaned, walking around the trap and leaving the dungeon, while listening for any sounds that may suggest that there was somebody coming. Not hearing anything, the demon walked out of the room and headed towards the library, where he and Dean were to meet. He still had no idea what he was going to do, guessing he'd have to bluff, to come up with something spontaneously.

"Sam?" He heard his name the moment he stepped foot into the large room, but the voice didn't come from neither Dean or the angel. Looking around, Sam actually smiled as he noticed Kevin walking towards him.

He completely forgot that guy existed, their own little puppet, a prophet of the Lord. What a joke, but Sam liked playing with, breaking small, fragile things.

"Hey Kevin," he said, grinning at the kid in front of him, and trying not to succumb to the temptation to just grab his small head and crush it between his hands, the thought of those addicting sounds of bones breaking sending a shiver down his spine. "How have you been?"

Kevin smiled back at him, then crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking prouder than ever. "Well, while you've been in Hell, I was translating the Tablet. At least the half I have. And…I kind of managed to find a few pretty cool things."

"Really? Like what?" Sam asked, genuinely curious as he looked at the beaming prophet.

"Oh nothing much, just the last Trial, which is to cu—"

"Okay, stop right there," Dean said suddenly, cutting Kevin off, as he stood up from a chair he was sitting in and moved over to the pair. "After what happened to you, I hope you're not thinking about continuing with the Trials, are you?" he asked, the tone of his voice stern in that 'no bullshit' way.

"What? You kidding? I might be dedicated, but not suicidal. So no, I'm not gonna keep doing it and, anyway, I already failed the second Trial." Sam calmed his brother down, though failing to rescue Bobby from Hell wasn't the only thing stopping him from continuing. Since now he was a demon, too, and he actually really liked Hell.

There were many other reasons as well, like how he didn't want to run out of demons to drink from, and…

Damn it, demons.

Sam swallowed, cursing himself for remembering the demon blood. He was doing so well, ignoring his growing hunger, but now that he thought about it he couldn't help but yearn for it, his last fix being way too long ago. And he must have looked just how he felt, because the next second he felt Dean's hands on his shoulders, those green eyes full of concern watching him.

"Sammy? Hey, you feeling okay?" he asked worriedly, snapping Sam out of his daze right away.

"Yeah, sorry, just spaced out a little." Sam cleared his throat, rubbing his face and forcing himself to breathe and to calm the fuck down. At least as he glanced at his hands, they weren't shaking yet, so he got that going for him.

But that didn't mean that he looked fine, and he couldn't fool his ever worrying older brother with some obvious lies. "Yeah, and I haven't had a drink in a week. Come on, let's get you in a chair before you collapse on me," Dean insisted, dragging the demon to a nearby chair and practically pushed him down into it, Sam rolling his eyes as he leaned back, and fine, he couldn't deny that he _was_ feeling a bit better after sitting down.

"Sam, I know I shouldn't ask but I'm still going to…which doesn't mean you have to answer. But what exactly happened in there?" Kevin asked, looking down at a surely sick looking Sam, who sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling as if he aged ten thousand years. The constant pressure and now the hunger really weren't doing wonders to him.

The demon glanced from his brother to the prophet, then shrugged, quickly coming up with a story because he apparently was too busy torturing souls all day and night to rehears his lies.

"Well, I don't know how to explain… I was locked in a place where the screams never stopped and you can never really get used to the overwhelming smell of blood and sulfur in the air. And then there were the demons, who just loved torturing people and laughed in the faces of those who begged for mercy. So, all in all, it was Hell."

"I'm sorry," Dean said suddenly, catching the demon by surprise as he sat down next to him. His brother looked like a complete wreck, his eyes full of sorrow and guilt, all of those feelings of remorse etched onto his face making Sam realize how glad he was, not burdened with a clean, pure soul, or conscience. His soul was dark, a pitch black instead of a light blue. "I should have been there sooner. This is on me, Sam, and I'll never be able to make it up to you…"

"What are you saying?" Sam frowned, knowing how the old Sam Winchester would never let his big brother wallow in guilt, and he put a hand on the man's shoulder, trying to seem as sincere as a demon could. "Crowley being the asshole that he is isn't your fault. None of us could have known in advance that I'd get stuck there. And Dean, you got me out of there, so really, there's nothing you should be ashamed of or feel guilty for. Just…stop blaming yourself for every damn thing, will you?"

And Sam wanted to give himself a pat on the back, because even this worked, his brother blinking away those emotions he'd rather keep buried, probably not wanting to shed any tears in front of his little brother anymore. He smiled a small, but genuine smile and nodded.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. But I do screw up a lot."

"We both do," Sam said, grinning at his brother, who couldn't help but laugh, and for a while everything seemed to be fine.

Then, Sam remembered something crucial.

"Dean?" the demon asked, prepared for anything as he looked his brother in the eye. "Uh, where's Cas?"

Raising an eyebrow, Dean glanced at Kevin who in turn just shrugged.

"While we were waiting for you guys to come back, Castiel did a weird head motion, as if he was listening to something, then disappeared, saying something like…'They are getting closer'," Kevin said, Sam having to bite back a laugh when the kid tried to imitate the angel's deep, raspy voice, but failed horribly.

"Guess Naomi's goons are still on his tail. Poor Emanuel," Dean said, chuckling at his own joke that nobody aside from him got, but too lazy to explain the hidden meaning of the joke, he just waved his hand and got up from the chair, letting out a long sigh. "Well, guess we're gonna have to wait with your checkup. Let's just hope you didn't catch anything nasty from Hell, like some mutant plague. Nightmare plague. Teenage mutant ninja plagues…" Dean grinned, however stopped as soon as he realized that both Sam and Kevin were staring at him with clearly annoyed, not the least bit amused expressions.

"Seriously?" Kevin asked, to what Dean just rolled his eyes.

"I shouldn't waste my hilarious jokes on the lot of you," he complained, before turning around and walking off to god knows where, leaving the demon and the prophet alone.

A heavy, rather awkward silence hung in the air as the two just stared off into space, Kevin glancing around with no real purpose or interest whatsoever, while Sam tried not to look too happy. The angel was gone, after all, meaning that he just bought himself some more time, the good news making him want to laugh in relief. He already had something planned out, probably leading Dean on for a few more days, maybe even a week, before dropping the bomb.

He couldn't wait to see his big brother's reaction, the look on his face when Sam would turn his eyes black and laugh in his face. He was even thinking about killing Kevin in front of Dean or, even better, make the hunter kill the poor kid he thought of as family. How awesome would that be?

He felt like rubbing his palms together, like some evil genius, feeling like Fate was on his side for once. Sam just felt _great_ as he stood up and pursed his lips eagerly, wondering how he could sneak out of the bunker without being seen, and have a quick meal, a refill of demon blood. He'd probably have to make up something stupid but believable enough for Dean to let him out by himself, since with him being the overprotective brother he was right now, there'd be no way Sam would have more than an hour without Dean's watchful eyes on him.

Just as he thought of that, the demon saw his brother from the corner of his eye, walking back to the room with something in his hand. Sam turned around to get a better look at the hunter and the thing he must have spent five minutes searching for, but when Sam saw what it was, he wished he hadn't.

"Dean?" Sam gulped, his voice steady even though he felt like it could break any moment, all and every hope of bluffing or lying his way out of this situation disappearing when Dean raised the little bottle.

The bottle in which they kept the holy water.

"Sorry, I completely forgot about it," Dean said, closing in on Sam, however when the demon backed into the table without even realizing it, Dean stopped and frowned, a small, reassuring smile appearing on his face. "Hey, chill. I'll just splash you with some holy juice and make a small cut on your arm, that's it. There'll be no torture, no need to freak out, Sammy."

Sam blinked, opening his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it. It seemed as if Dean thought that he backed away because of his experience in Hell, as if he was traumatized or something, which he could actually use for his advantage.

Yeah, he could definitely work with that, because no way was he going to get busted now of all times.

"I can't… Hell, man, it screwed me up," Sam said, trying to sound as miserable as possible, as he looked at Dean with those kicked puppy eyes and hoped that his brother would fall for his act.

"Hey…" Dean took a few steps closer, as if advancing on a scared animal. "Hey, it's okay. Just one drop on your hand, alright? C'mon, it's not like you're a demon, we both know that, but you also know that I have to make sure. I'm not doubting you, but…" He trailed off, glancing at the table Sam was desperately pressing himself against and hoping he could merge with it or something, then quickly closed the distance between them.

"Dean, I…" Sam began, but didn't know what else to say. Two pair of eyes were watching him intently, Kevin leaning against the wall while Dean opened the lid of the bottle, and the demon swallowed, realizing that there was no way out of this situation, not like this.

However desperate times called for desperate measures, so as his brother took a hold of Sam's tensed arm and was about to pour some holy water on it, he quickly pulled his hand away.

"Sam!" Dean gasped in surprise as his brother violently yanked his arm out of the hunter's grasp, and also knocked the bottle out of his hands. It was a success by far, killing two birds with one stone, and Sam felt a wave of relief as he saw the contents of the bottle spilling onto the floor.

But then another feeling quickly drew his attention, and he hissed in pain as he looked down at his hand, realizing with dread that it was sizzling where a few drops of water landed on his skin.

"Fuck," Sam growled as he rubbed his hand, and when he looked up, he knew he screwed up, big time. Dean was gaping at him with wide, shocked eyes, and as he glanced at Kevin, the prophet seemed to be having the same reaction.

"Sam…?" Dean's voice was low and weak as he gazed into his little brother's eyes, looking broken and betrayed, but that didn't really bother Sam. Only thing that annoyed him was his cover getting blown, and that he had to come up with a new plan, and fast.

However he didn't really need to think for long before he knew exactly what he had to do, and since he didn't have to fake being a human anymore, the demon flashed a dark grin at his shocked brother, his eyes turning a pure black.

"I hoped we could have spent a bit more time together, but you just had to go and ruin everything, didn't you?" Sam sneered, laughing in his brother's face as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, making the older hunter visibly shiver in disgust. "What, can't stand the fact that your little Sammy's a demon?"

Dean swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, then suddenly grabbed Sam by his jacket. "You get out of my brother, or I swear I'll make you suffer," he spat through gritted teeth, making the demon chuckle in amusement.

"Really, Dean? I mean, I knew you'd have a hard time accepting the fact that I'm not that pathetic little kid anymore, but denial? Come on, that's a new low, even for you," Sam said, a wide grin crossing his face. "We both know what's _really_ going on here, with me, so don't try and make it easier for yourself."

"No," Dean stated, shaking his head as he tightened his grip on his brother's jacket, his knuckles whitening. "No, you're not a demon. That's not—"

"Possible?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. "Please, everything's possible in Hell. You should know that already. And, you know, Crowley went to great lengths to give me just the right treatment, the perfect torture to break little old weak me. Oh, and Kevin?" Sam glanced at the prophet slowly moving towards a door from the corner of his eyes, and smirked. "I can hear you. And see you. And smell you too, so you should really consider taking a shower."

Kevin stopped where he stood, not daring to take another step, but he still glared at Sam with a bit frightened, but serious eyes. "This is not you, Sam. Whatever they've done to you in Hell, you need to fight it."

"Oh please, save your emotional speech for someone who actually cares."

The demon rolled his eyes, then looked back at Dean who still seemed to be in shock, not being able to make up his mind on whether to try an exorcism on Sam, or to cuff him and lock him in the dungeon.

"So, what?" he said finally, still holding on to Sam's jacket, as if that would help him keep his anger and sorrow at bay. "You're just gonna kill us and go back to Hell, torturing souls until the end of time? Is that your idea of spending eternity? Why even bother pretending to be normal when you're clearly not?"

"Well, initial idea was to keep at it until I got bored, then kill you." Sam shrugged, glancing down at his brother's now slightly trembling fists clutching his jacket, and grinned. "But I guess the situation calls for a change of plans. I've gotta kill you, here and now. And no, I'm not exactly planning on going back to Hell, no matter how surprising that may be. I'm actually going to keep hunting, because turning into a demon won't stop me from kicking ass."

"Kicking ass?" Dean scoffed, an incredulous smile crossing his face. "You could never be a hunter like this. Saving people, hunting things, the family business as a demon? Don't make me laugh!" he spat, and must have finally snapped, as he shoved Sam harder against the table, nearly pushing the demon down on it, Sam having to put his hands on the table to stop himself from falling back.

"Well, I really don't care what you think, Dean. I will keep on hunting and, if I can help it, you won't be here to do anything about it," the demon hissed as a cocky smile appeared on his face, and he pushed back against his brother's force, making the hunter step back unless he wanted to collide with Sam. "So what are you going to do, Dean? Kill me? Send me back to Hell? Because no matter how hard it is for you to accept it, I'm not possessed, and I'm here to stay."

"Not possessed… Maybe. Here to stay? I don't think so," Dean growled, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the demon. "I don't know what they've done to you Sammy, down there, but I can promise you one thing. I'm gonna find what's causing this, and put an end to it."

"What? Wait, don't tell me…you actually want to _help_ me?" Sam asked in surprise, and then couldn't help but laugh, this whole situation just way too much for him.

Was his brother completely mad? Has he gone insane? Cuckoo? That must have been the case, his poor brother's brain shutting down, or else there'd be no way Dean would even think about trying to save Sam, when it was so obvious that he was beyond that point. "How exactly do you suppose you'd do that, may I ask?" Sam tilted his head, raising his eyebrows, genuinely curious how his brother was planning on saving a _demon_.

However, instead of an insane glint in Dean's eyes, all the demon saw was a look of complete dedication and somberness, as his brother nodded at Kevin, who was still standing next to the wall, not daring to move.

"While you've been in Hell, Kevin translated the Tablet. He never really got to tell you what the last Trial was, since I cut him off, but I think you're gonna like it," he said, then smiled in a way that sent a nervous chill down Sam's spine. "It was about curing a demon."

Forgetting to blink, Sam needed a moment to process that, because just what the fuck?

"What the fuck?" he asked, deciding to voice his thoughts as he heard it was therapeutic. There was no way for a demon to be _cured_ , that wasn't only impossible but also insane. They've never heard of a demon going back to the right side, nobody ever did, and Sam doubted that they would be the ones changing history.

Though, considering the sort of things they've done these past few years, finding the cure for demons wouldn't be that big of a step for them. But that wasn't the point here, and Sam wasn't going to believe a word Dean said. He could just as well be bluffing. "There's no such thing as curing demons, you know that."

"There is, we just never heard of it. Nobody did, and for the right reasons. Remember how we're legacies? And where we are?" Dean asked, however didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Everything about curing demons is in here, and since the Men of Letters were destroyed many years ago, it's obvious that nobody knew about the cure. And it's not even that hard, mind you, as all you have to do is… Well, I don't wanna spoil the fun for you."

"Dean, if you, for one second, think that you can drag me into your little plan, that I would let you try some hundred years old hoodoo on me, then you're greatly mistaken," Sam hissed, suddenly grabbing his brother's wrists and ripping his hands away from his jacket, nearly shoving the man to the floor in the process. He snarled, like a famished animal that turned on its keeper, and narrowed his pitch black eyes. "You can't make me do anything, Dean. Not anymore."

His brother didn't seem at all shaken, though, and instead of looking scared, he just gave Sam a hard gaze full of confidence. "Maybe, but I'm sure as hell capable of dragging your sorry ass into the dungeon, Sammy," he warned, closing in on the demon, who decided that enough was enough, and before Dean could have grabbed him again, Sam moved quickly, his hand shooting out as he wrapped his fingers around the hunter's throat.

Dean's eyes widened and he immediately grabbed Sam's hand, trying to peel his fingers away from his throat, but it was all in vain, the demon's iron grip not giving an inch. His brother opened his mouth, making gasping and choking sounds as he tried to get some air, all the while kicking and clawing at the demon, however it was all just wasted energy from Dean's part.

"See? Everything's so much better when you're shutting up. You know, I like you more and more the lesser you breathe, Dean," Sam purred, a wicked grin crossing his face as he tightened his grip around his gasping brother's throat, but suddenly felt a sharp pain in his hand.

He frowned, growling in pain as he glanced at two of his fingers that were hanging limp and touching the back of his hand. Dean managed a shaky smile as he grabbed Sam's thumb, the one digging into his neck, and broke it also, leaving no choice for the demon but to let him go.

"You've gotta try harder than that," he said weakly, coughing and gasping for air as he took a few steps back from the pissed demon. Sam, glaring at his brother, took hold of his broken fingers and snapped them back to the way they're supposed to be, then raised his head to look down on Dean, his gaze full of disdain and arrogance.

"You're practically asking for your death here, Deano," he said nonchalantly, a low chuckle leaving him as he walked towards the hunter. "But I'm not one to refuse a dying man's wish, so…better prepare yourself."

"Oh, enough with the cheesy one liners. Come and get me instead, bitch," Dean taunted, and Sam was on him the next second.

Sam backed his brother into a wall, a predatory smirk splitting his face as he reached for Dean, but the hunter ducked at the last moment and kicked his little brother in the shin, the demon hissing in pain. Dean moved behind Sam, then before the demon could have turned around, he grabbed his long hair, and bashed his little brother's face in the wall.

He did so three or four times before Sam managed to elbow the hunter in the teeth, then shoved him so brutally that Dean landed on his ass, grunting in pain as he looked up at his brother's bloody face.

"What's up Dean, can't hold your own in a fight against your brother?" Sam mocked, spitting bloody saliva on the floor. His face was pretty messed up thanks to Dean, his nose probably broken and he was also missing a teeth, blood flowing from his nose and dripping down his chin.

"Don't get too excited, we only just got started," Dean said, before getting to his feet, or at least would have if he could have moved. Blinking and frowning in confusion, he glanced at Sam, then narrowed his eyes. "Playing dirty?"

"Did you forget that I'm a demon? And, if you wouldn't have known, demons don't fight fair." Sam shrugged, then walked over to his helpless brother who he was keeping still with his power, and crouched down in front of him, knowing that Dean couldn't do anything to him like this, the invisible force preventing him from making even the slightest movements. "It's sad, how you just keep on trying. But I get it, I do. It's not your fault. It's your soul, Dean, the anchor that's holding you back, holding us all back… Can't you see it? Feel it? Humanity, it's so useless. To be the best hunters, we need to be cold and hard. Indifferent," Sam said, tilting his head as he placed a hand on his brother's chest, and grinned. "Let me make you understand, Dean. Let me show you this new world, where there's no pain, no suffering. Just the thrill of the hunt."

And Sam meant what he said. He wanted to kill his brother, yes, but if he could turn him, change him, then he'd rather choose that option. The Winchester brothers, both demons, the best hunters the world has ever seen. Now _that_ would be fun, and worth the effort.

But, of course, Dean shook his head and glared at the demon, the look of defiance clear in his eyes. "Keep your fantasies to yourself, Sam. I'm not going to sport a pair of black eyes, even if that'd be the only way for you to change your mind about burying me. So do whatever you want, but my mind won't change. Because I _will_ save you."

Sam stared at his brother for a few seconds, then burst out laughing, having to hold on to Dean's shoulders for him not to end up on his ass too. "Oh come on, won't you ever stop? _I will save you, I will help you, I will cure you_ **.** Just when are you willing to accept that you can't do anything for me? I'm beyond saving, Dean! I'm a demon!" Sam shouted, then grabbed his brother's wrist and pulled him up, removing the force that held him down before pushing him against the table.

He then backed away, his eyes never leaving Dean, and snapped his fingers.

All of a sudden, Dean's eyes widened and his body began shaking as he made horrible gagging sounds. He raised a hand in front of his mouth as he started coughing, and it came away bloody, Dean violently hacking up blood, the fits becoming louder and harsher. His body began trembling with each cough, his eyes wide and confused as he looked from his blood covered hands to Sam, then when he grabbed the side of the table to stop himself from collapsing, his hand slipped out from under him, the blood covering his palm too slippery, and Dean found himself kneeling on the floor in no time. The hunter tried to speak, to desperately say something, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was blood, so much blood.

And Sam chuckled, enjoying his big brother's suffering as he watched him.

Not wanting to end things too quickly, Sam made a hand motion and Dean finally stopped coughing his lungs out; then the demon walked over to the panting man, grabbed him by his short hair, and tugged him to his feet. And Dean didn't waste any time, immediately shoving Sam back, even though he still seemed weak and in pain from his previous experience.

"I see you like toying with your food," Dean said as he cleared his throat, and then wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a crimson smear across his chin.

"Oh, you've got no idea how right you are," Sam said and grinned, before raising his fists into fighting position. "C'mon, I'll handicap myself for you, so we can have a fair fight. No more demon powers. Don't say I never did anything for you."

"How generous," Dean scoffed, wiping his bloody hands on his pants while never taking his eyes off Sam. "So you want a brawl? I'll give you one."

He smirked, motioning for the demon to come closer. Sam rolled his eyes, however instead of walking over to his brother, he disappeared, then reappeared right in front of Dean, completely catching him off guard. He punched him in the face, hard enough to throw Dean's head back, then kneed him in the stomach. When the hunter grabbed his abdomen by reflex, Sam took a hold of the back of his neck and pulled the man down, until he could knee him in the face and, as Dean lost his balance, he pushed him into a chair, the disoriented hunter tripping and falling over, bringing the chair with him.

"Such a graceful fall," Sam sneered, chuckling, but stopped when he heard a sound coming from a room somewhere in the bunker.

Frowning, he turned around, then grunted in pain, stumbling forward as a chair exploded on his back. Managing not to fall to his knees, he hissed painfully as he turned back to Dean, who was holding the remains of what used to be a chair before it met with Sam's back.

"That's cheating," Sam growled, rubbing his aching neck.

"Maybe, but you lied." Dean shrugged, then changed his grip on the piece of wood in his hands, holding it like a bat.

"Calm down Babe Ruth, you might actually hurt someone with that," the demon mocked Dean, and bit his lip in anticipation when he saw the determined look in his brother's eyes. Dean took a step towards him, then glanced at the side. And Sam did the stupidest thing, following Dean's eyes, but it was too late when he realized that it was just a distraction.

His brother quickly closed the distance between them and drove the piece of wood through his chest, the demon crying out at the intense pain. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but still couldn't amount to what he felt when tortured in Hell, as wood wasn't exactly the demons' greatest weakness, and Sam managed to grab the end of the piece of wood, pulling it out. "Yeah, not the best choice of weapons, if you ask me," he noted as Dean glared at him.

"Was worth a try," the hunter said, before swiftly moving forward, surprising Sam when he literally tackled him to the ground. The demon groaned as his head bounced off the floor, though didn't have time to contemplate on the pain as Dean immediately began beating the living Hell out of him. He straddled Sam, and punched him over and over again, just like that one time he was bent on knocking him unconscious—and it seemed to be working, the demon's vision blurring, but he couldn't afford to give in now. Sam forced himself to grab Dean's arms, but all he achieved with that was getting punched by his own hands, when his brother just wouldn't stop moving his fists. Letting out a frustrated growl, the demon concentrated on his power instead, and managed to hurl Dean to the side and off his body, his brother landing on the floor next to him.

"I think," Sam groaned, sitting up and grabbing Dean's ankles when he tried to kick him, "that it's time we end this little game. What do you say?" he asked and flashed a vicious grin at his brother, before he flipped him over and crawled on him, seizing his hands behind his back.

"Sam, I think you're a bit too old to be playing horseback riding games on me," Dean joked dryly, then let out a pained groan as the demon twisted his arms, coming close to breaking them. He squirmed, trying to somehow buck Sam off, but he just looked like a frenzied slug. When he finally stopped moving, there was a long silence in the room before Dean spoke again. "And yeah…I guess you're right. It's time we end this."

"Damn right," Sam agreed, a primal grin crossing his face as he licked his lips and wondered how it'd feel like to bite his brother, like a crazed animal, to tear at his flesh with his teeth. But as he leaned closer to the suspiciously silent man, the demon felt a sudden burning sensation, a wave of excruciating pain as his skin began steaming.

He jumped off Dean, screaming in pain as water ran down his face and arms, his whole body. When he managed to open his eyes without getting any water in them, he saw Kevin holing a large bucket, which probably contained the holy water, and was giving something to Dean that looked like a metal rod or some kind of pole. Sam cursed himself, knowing that he should have kept an eye on the prophet, but he was too caught up on enjoying their little fight with his brother, making Dean bleed proving to be quite amusing. And now that carelessness cost him big.

"So, where were we again?" Dean asked, grinning down at the pissed-off demon, then raised the rod in his hand. "Can you guess what this is made out of?"

Snarling at his brother and not particularly giving a shit about Dean's newest weapon, Sam ignored him and tried to stand up, but instead of water, this time Kevin threw a large amount of salt right in the demon's face, successfully blinding him again. Sam let out an aggravated roar, finally snapping and, even though he couldn't see, he flicked his wrist in hopes of hurling someone against a wall. However, aside from Kevin's low curse as it sounded like he dropped the bucket, Sam couldn't hear any bones breaking or bodies hitting the far wall. But that was just his luck.

After a blind moment, he felt a pair of hands on him and Sam pretty much freaked out, swatting and clawing at everything as he tried to back away, still on the floor, but soon his head collided with the side of the table. And he was in the middle of thinking about just disappearing, when he realized that he could see again and, the second he did, the demon didn't waste a second before he quickly got to his feet and attacked.

He moved fast, snatching the empty bucket from the floor and bashing Kevin's head with it, then kicked the kid in the gut and sent him flying. Next, he turned to Dean whose eyes widened, since the demon probably looked like someone who just escaped an insane asylum, with crazed black eyes, panting in anger, and his mouth twisted into a vicious snarl.

"I've had enough of your shit," Sam growled, his hands clenched into fists as he slowly advanced toward the hunter, then grinned when Dean raised the metal rod and swung it at him, the demon grabbing it mid-swing with one hand. His grin immediately faltered and then faded, replaced by a scream as a horrible pain shot up from his hand, his palm burning where it was touching the rod. Sam quickly pulled away his hand, glancing at his burnt flesh, then at his smiling brother, realizing that it was not a metal rod he was holding. He felt the darkness inside him grow, nearing a fit of rage.

"Iron. Hurts, doesn't it?" Dean chuckled, waving the iron rod in front of the demon teasingly, then stepped closer and, without any warning, swung it at Sam. He managed to step out of the way in time, but only the first time, as he didn't anticipate another swing from the other side. And this time, it connected with Sam's head.

He felt a fierce pain and a burning sensation as the iron rod hit him in the side of the head, making the demon temporarily lose his balance. But that was enough for Dean to swipe him off his feet, and as he fell, Sam also hit his back on a chair he landed on, then fell to the floor. It was as if karma really had it out for him right then.

"Dean, quickly." He heard Kevin's urging voice, and the demon groaned in pain as he tried to sit up, but was violently shoved on his back, then someone grabbed his arms and—

Oh no.

"Dean, take these off, right now!" Sam yelled, tugging at the metal cuffs etched with all sorts of runes and symbols on his wrists. He recognized them from their dungeon, and knew that once these cuffs were on a demon, or on any other supernatural being, they would block that being's powers. Which practically made Sam useless, as without his powers, he was just like any other human. Pathetic.

"No way, Sam. It's over, so there's no use in fighting it anymore," Dean said, grabbing the demon by his arm and pulling him to his feet, and as he looked Sam over, the hunter couldn't help but smirk. "The wet dog look really suits you, you know."

"Screw you," Sam spat, tempted to use the handcuffs to strangle Dean here and now, but with Kevin watching him intently, he wouldn't be able to kill his brother even if he were to try.

"I feel the love." Dean chuckled, and tightened his grip on his brother's arm as he began dragging him towards the dungeon. But Sam froze in place, refusing to move. If he had no choice but to get locked in there, he'd at least give as much trouble as possible for Dean to get him there. The hunter sighed, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Sam. "Seriously? I knew you were a sore loser, but this is a bit too much, don't you think?"

The demon only glared at him and refused to utter a word, so after a while Dean just shrugged, walked behind Sam, and began shoving him forward, this time the demon having no other choice but to walk unless he wanted to fall over like a plank.

The walk to the dungeon was silent, and when they stopped in front of the door, Dean searched through his pockets before letting out an annoyed groan. "Great, no keys. Perfect." He rubbed his aching face and nodded to the end of the hallway. "Kevin, could you escort 8D8 here to his room and lock him in while I look for the keys?"

"Yeah, but I don't have the key to his room…" Kevin muttered, frowning as he looked at Dean.

"Fine, then just guard his door or something. And don't trust him if he says he has to use the ladies room. Rebel teenagers always lie." He winked, then turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Sam alone with the prophet.

After a moment of silence, Kevin turned to the demon and smiled nervously. Damn, Sam really wanted to bash the annoying kid's face in, just for the fun of it. He knew from a valid source that his screams of pain were amusing. "Well, let's go," Kevin said, motioning for Sam to follow him. They walked to his room, the prophet opening the door for him and, as Sam entered, he warned, "I'll be standing right outside the door, so don't try anything funny," before closing the door.

The demon eyed the door for a full minute before letting out a frustrated sigh, collapsing on the bed and burying his face in his hands. He chuckled to himself, wondering how he managed to screw everything up, and how he got from being a successful undercover demon to one that got cuffed and beaten up by his own big brother. He groaned and glanced down at the metal cuffs around his wrists, wishing he could just make them disappear, but life wasn't that easy.

Where did it all go wrong? Sam was supposed to kill his brother, was supposed to squeeze the life out of his body, but ended up here instead, bound and beaten. And now, Dean was going to use some shady magic crap on him, something that's supposed to cure him, but there was no way it would work, right? Sam wanted to believe that, that it was just some old Men of Letters' mind coming up with complete bullshit, but he wasn't so sure. What if it would work? If the cure was legit?

He didn't want to go back to his old self. That was the last thing Sam wanted. He'd rather die as a demon than turn back into the guilt ridden, emotional wreck of a hunter. He refused, deciding that no matter what it took, he wouldn't let Dean get the upper hand here, not with that. And if that meant he'd have to pull some strings and talk to someone he'd rather avoid asking a favor from, then so be it.

The demon glanced around the room, which he never really got to decorate, and after making sure that Kevin wouldn't hear him as he moved to the furthest spot from the door, he pulled out his phone from his pants pocket without looking like some mentally challenged penguin.

He struggled with the contact list, but when he finally found the name he was looking for, he took a deep breath and hoped for the best. And then he dialed.

It rang for so long that Sam was beginning to lose hope of ever speaking to the demon, but then after an awfully long second, he heard the deep, arrogant voice saying, "Moose! How's life treating you?"

Sam sighed. "Honestly? Like crap. Listen, I've got—"

"Let me guess," the demon cut him off, and Sam could just imagine him sitting on his throne, making that self-satisfied face. "You and brother dearest aren't on the bestest of terms. He probably found out about your black peepers, and now you're in trouble. Am I right so far?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded, even though the demon on the other end couldn't see him. "He wants to _cure_ me, Crowley. He's got me cuffed with these anti-demon handcuffs and if I don't do something fast, there's a good chance he'll succeed. And none of us want that."

"Well, that much is definitively true. To be honest, I prefer G.I. Joe to Mary Sue, and you dropping the black eyes would be a bummer for me, too. But really, a cure? Is your brother out of his mind?" Crowley asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I know, it sounds insane. But there's a fifty-fifty chance that it might work, and I'm not ready to risk it, not when Dean seems so sure about the whole deal," he said while sneaking glances at the door from time to time, to make sure that he wouldn't get caught.

"I see… What I don't get, however, is what any of this has to do with me," Crowley said, obviously lying. Sam was certain that the demon knew exactly what he was getting at, but wanted to hear it from Sam's mouth, that smug prick.

"Drop the act, Crowley. You know what I want, and if we both agree on the fact that me turning back to a human would be very bad news, then you're going to do as I say. Now, get your ass here and help me," Sam ordered, knowing that asking for a favor in such a rude way was risky. Crowley loved seeing people give up their pride and say exactly what he wanted to hear, but Sam was running out of time. He had neither time, nor patience to play the demon's games. So it all came down to one thing… What was more important to him: Sam staying a demon, or his ego?

Sam was screwed.

"You should really work on your way of phrasing things. Maybe one day you'll even stop sounding like a barbarian," Crowley said, however instead of the phone, his voice came from the other side of the room. Sam whipped his head around when he heard the voice, then watched as the demon pressed then end call button on his phone, slid it in the inside of his forever immaculate suit jacket, then smirked at him. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

Sam frowned, then eyed Crowley as he skillfully put his phone back in his pocket and walked over to the other demon. "Now you just sound like an old lady. Oh, and you better keep your voice down. I've got the prophet of the Lord standing guard in front of my room."

"Kevin? Do say 'hi' to him for me," the demon said, his smirk widening as he looked Sam over. His eyes narrowed when he saw the cuffs on the other demon's wrists, and he reached out to touch them, humming as he ran his thumb over a pentagram engraved into the metal. "Crafty little thing."

"And a pain in the ass," Sam complained as he turned his hands around and glared at the handcuffs. Annoying piece of scrap metal. "So, do they come off?" he asked from the demon, but judging from the way he eyed the metal on Sam's wrists, there wasn't much hope for that.

"Afraid not. Only the special key can make them go _poof_ which, I assume, you don't have on you."

Sam groaned in annoyance. Seriously, how much bad luck could one demon have? It was starting to become ridiculous, and as he took a deep breath to at least try and calm down, he froze.

His nostrils were filled with the sweetest of smells, and he swallowed, licking his lips eagerly as he glanced at the demon in front of him, his eyes filled with hunger. Crowley, probably noticing the famished look on Sam's face, took a step back and raised his hands. "Whoa there, keep your chompers to yourself."

Blinking and suddenly feeling disoriented, Sam rubbed his eyes and turned away, then clenched his fists. "Sorry," he said, his voice low and raspy. He felt dizzy, the strong smell of demon blood clouding his judgment, and slowly turning him into a wild animal. Sam had to fight down the urge to grab the demon and drain him from all of his blood, only looking back at Crowley when he was sure he wasn't going to lose it the second he saw the veins bulging in his neck. But he wasn't going to lie, the temptation was maddening.

"When was the last time you had some of your…special drug?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked the other demon over and, surely, it couldn't have been worry Sam saw in Crowley's eyes.

"Uh, four days? Five, maybe," Sam sighed, closing his eyes and sitting down on the side of the bed, thinking about everything but the sweet taste of that crimson blood he missed so much. Addiction was a nasty thing, even if one was to embrace it, since as soon as you don't get your fix, the world collapses. And Sam was nearing desperation, which was never good. "Anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "can't you do something? Anything? There has to be a way to stop Dean from using the cure."

"Well, I could always try and knock him out. Though I'd rather not put my ass on the line, hope you understand," Crowley said, rubbing his chin, then frowned. A sly grin spread across his face, and the demon stepped closer to Sam. "Stand up."

"Did you come up with something?" Sam asked, hesitating for a few moments before standing up straight, and then looked down at the demon with suspicious eyes.

"Yes. And you owe me," he stated, and Sam heard a click as the demon locked the door with a flick of his wrist. He then shoved a hand in his pocket, searched around for something for a moment, before pulling out a small vial of black liquid. It seemed strangely alive in the glass. "Cheers, mate."

"You want me to drink _that_?" Sam pulled a face of disgust as he eyed the vial, not feeling especially thirsty from the sight.

"No, I want you to bathe in it," Crowley said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Yes, I want you to drink it."

Sam studied the vial for a long moment, weighting the pros and cons of being poisoned by a mysterious liquid against the possibility of screwing over Dean, and decided that seeing his brother sad and miserable was worth watching an alien crawl out of his stomach. More or less.

"Fine," he muttered, grabbing the thing from Crowley's hand. He tried not to breathe as he downed the liquid which was, fortunately, tasteless.

"Good boy," Crowley said with a dark grin, before placing his hand on Sam's chest. Immediately, a sharp, blinding pain shot through Sam's body and he clutched his chest as he let out an agonized scream, and fell to his knees, his legs giving out from the sudden and intense amount of pain. He stared at the floor with wide eyes, panting and gasping as his ears rang, and after the ringing subsided, the first thing he heard were the loud poundings on the door with Kevin shouting and asking if Sam was alright.

"What the…" Sam coughed, looking up at the grinning demon in shock and confusion. His lungs felt like someone had ripped them out, then went crazy on them with a meat cleaver, his heart was beating twice as fast as normal, and he was sweating like he just ran a marathon. Not to mention that odd pain in his chest.

"Oh yeah, forgot to mention that it might sting a little. My bad." The demon chuckled, patting the frowning one's shoulder, and glanced at the door. "Think I've outstayed my welcome, so I better get going."

"Wait, what did you do? And what the heck was that crap you made me swallow?" Sam asked as he grabbed the sleeve of Crowley's suit, using that to pull himself to his feet. When he was finally standing, the demon pulled a face and jerked his hand back, then dusted off his sleeve while glaring daggers at Sam.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head over the drink, it was just an enhancer. As for the rest… Remember those fancy little rib tattoos you got from your angel buddy? Well, I did something similar, only with your soul," he explained, raising an eyebrow to see if Sam got it, but the other demon looked at him with a 'what the hell are you talking about' look on his face.

Sam remembered when Castiel put Enochian engravings on their ribs, but that didn't hurt as much as what Crowley just did with him. Actually, nothing ever hurt this much before, not the tortures in Hell or the holy water that burnt his skin. Maybe once, when he was in the Cage with the Devil, he might have felt something close to this amount of pain, but he couldn't be sure as the pain he felt now only lasted for a few seconds in contrary to the one in the Cage, each torture taking more than a day. Lucifer was a true sadist.

"My soul?" Sam asked in confusion, wishing Crowley would stop speaking in riddles and just tell him what he did already, since the poundings on the door were getting louder, and he was pretty sure he heard Dean's voice at one point.

Rolling his eyes, the demon shook his head and looked at Sam with an annoyed look in his eyes. "I swear, sometimes I wonder how you and your brother managed to survive all these years, with the small to no amount of brain cells you must be possessing." Crowley sighed dramatically, then pointed at the other demon's chest. "I put a mark on your soul, something that will stop any cure from purifying it, or whatever it is your brother wants to do. It serves as a sort of prison that keeps your soul trapped in your body, and since it can't leave, nothing can enter, either. No changes are possible with the mark preserving your soul as it is, so whatever it is Dean's planning on doing to you, whatever great plans he's come up to cure you with, it won't work," he said, glancing at the door from the corner of his eyes. "Now, if you excuse me, I have to be somewhere important, to do something important. Toodles."

And with that, Crowley was gone.

"Son of a…" Sam muttered to himself, a wide grin slowly spreading across his face. If Crowley was right, and his soul was truly trapped in his body like he said, in a way that not even Dean and his cure could work on him, then he didn't have to worry about anything anymore. His brother could try whatever he wanted, it wouldn't work. Sam felt like laughing in relief, and couldn't wait to see the look on Dean's face when he'd realize that it didn't matter how deep he dug, or how far he went, because at the end of the day, he would certainly fail at curing the demon. The Sammy he wanted to bring back so desperately was gone forever, and if it was up to Sam, he'll never come back. That man was dead, the demon making sure to bury every last bit of emotions and feelings that threatened to resurface, and at this point, Sam was completely changed.

And he loved it.

His plan, initially, was to stay in Hell and torture as many souls as he could, and drink from as many demons as possible. The plan changed when Dean dragged him out, back to the real world, and Sam felt ready to go back to hunting, to the family business—only without Dean. He would hunt the way he wanted to, with his own rules, without anyone telling him what was right or wrong. Sam was so sure that killing his brother would be liberating, and he didn't doubt that for a second, not even now, however something had changed. His mind had changed.

Because, aside from watching his brother's blood run down his fingers, Dean looking at him with eyes filled with sorrow and denial, and him begging for his life under the demon's hands, there was something else that could bring a smile to Sam's face. Something way better than ending his brother's life…

Torture.

Sam had always preferred slow death to fast ones, and it was the same with torture. And for Dean, he would prepare something extra special, a kind of torture that would break him slowly, take him apart piece by piece, until nothing's left anymore but a hollow shell of a man. Seeing Dean suffer would be a hundred times better than simply killing him, and Sam knew exactly what to do to cause the greatest amount of both mental and physical suffering to the hunter. Though mostly mental, since scarring his brother was the best.

He would make a mess, a complete emotional wreck out of the person who was once known as the righteous man, the hunter that monsters told stories about in Purgatory, and the one feared, hated, or admired in both Heaven and Hell. Dean Winchester, desperately trying to cure his little brother, but never succeeding. The constant failure would gradually drive him mad, and the day when the hunter wouldn't be able to take it anymore, when the only way he'd find peace would be with the barrel of a gun in his mouth, that'd be when the demon would know he won.

He was a patient person. And if for his newest, and so far best plan to work, he'd have to spare his brother's life, then so be it.

Because watching Dean suffer… Well, that might prove to be even better than demon blood.


	9. Chapter IX

**Chapter IX**

Dean couldn't remember where he left the key. He knew it was supposed to be in the library, in a drawer where they kept all the keys on a ring, but he couldn't remember which drawer it was exactly. It was Sam who put them away, after all.

Sam…

The hunter stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, needing to put a hand on the wall and take a few deep breaths to calm himself. He felt anger, confusion, sorrow and guilt, his mind a whirlpool of emotions and, in a fit of rage, he let out a scream of fury, punching the solid wall. He was panting, staring straight as he leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cold surface and trying to calm down.

He chuckled, a sad, disbelieving chuckle, the pain in his knuckles drawing his attention, and Dean glanced at his bruised hand. He hissed as he opened and closed his fist, his fingers grazed and bloody.

"Damn it," he cursed, taking a shaky breath. He couldn't believe what just happened. He refused to believe it. Sam Winchester, his little brother, the overly empathetic hunter who always put others' needs and well-being in front of his, could not have become one of those black eyed assholes. Sam was the best damn hunter, and person he knew in this screwed up world. He wasn't a monster.

Clenching his jaw and trying to force his feelings down, Dean rubbed his eyes and walked to the library, then looked around the empty space. The tables were moved, the chairs scattered, one even lying on the floor in pieces, and there was a broken lamp not far from it. These were the evidences of what happened, the traces their fight left. Moving closer to the wreckage, Dean's eyes lingered on a light bulb that survived the fall, maybe the only thing left intact from their fight, from their life. He shook his head, walking to the drawers and kicking the light bulb out of his way—probably breaking it in the process—then put his hands on the large desk.

A small panic attack was letting itself be known to him, slowly and carefully taking him over, until Dean found himself sweating and breathing heavy, gripping the side of the desk, his eyes wide and unfocused. This was really getting to him, maybe even too much, but he couldn't stop it.

Because Sam was a demon, and it was his fault.

He doomed his brother, it was all him. Dean shouldn't have let his brother start the Trials, he should have been more insistent and fight, argue when Sam stated that he'd take them on instead. But Dean was too weak, gave up too soon, and look where it got him. A demon, a black eyed beast, a monster in and out, that was his brother now. But, then again, it wasn't Sam. Not really. It was a demon. Not Sam.

 _Not Sam._

Couldn't have been him. He was possessed, got a darkness stuffed inside him which wasn't his. Nobody could become a demon just like that, without actually dying first, and when Sam entered Hell, he was still flesh and blood, a living, breathing human. And he was still all of that, aside from the human part. Just like that time, which he'd rather forget about, when Sam's soul was trapped in the Cage, but his body wasn't. That Sam Winchester was cold, uncaring and brutal. He didn't give two shits about Dean, about innocent humans, or the victims' suffering and losses. All he wanted was to hunt, to shed blood, and what the worst, scariest thing was that this Sam desired the same as well. To hunt without feelings, only enjoying the bloodshed, the high and thrill of the hunt. And that wasn't the Sammy he knew, the nerdy idiot he was ready to die for any second.

"Alright, Dean. Get your shit together," he muttered to himself, frowning and blinking as he stared at the drawers and tried to remember which one hid the keys, but he couldn't look at them without seeing those back eyes staring back at him.

This was beginning to get ridiculous. Dean was over-thinking the whole situation, was letting this get to him too easily, the wall he spent so many years building around him that served as a protective dome for situations exactly like this, crumbling suddenly.

He hoped, so much, that Sam was possessed. That a demon was crammed inside him, using his brother's body as its own little puppet. Even that would have been better than the other scenario; however the more Dean thought about it, the less chance there was for it to prove to be true. Sam… The demon told him to try an exorcism on him, and no sane demon would ever ask for something like that. And anyway, why would something be possessing Sam, without actually gloating about it like any other demon would? Laughing in Dean's face while telling him that it was really him—no matter how much of a liar demons were, they'd never lie about something like that.

Since the first, and most important rule of the demons was that they always lie. Except for when the truth hurts more.

But that would mean that Sam was a demon, for real. He was neither possessed, nor under some kind of shady spell. It was him, the darkness in his soul was all Sam, and those pitch black eyes also belonged to him. How a soul could rot away that quickly, turn away from the light and embrace the darkness in such a short amount of time, was something Dean didn't even dare to think about in fear of breaking down. Since, if his little brother managed to survive a year and a half in the Cage, with the Devil himself and a pissed off archangel using him as their personal chewtoy, then what could have possibly happened in Hell now? Not even a year has passed, and Crowley managed to change his brother completely, to turn the purest man he knew, even with all the things that happened, into a heartless monster, a twisted demon.

Dean was too scared to think about it, would rather live in ignorance when it came to that.

However, there was something he couldn't ignore. Sam might be a demon, that much was true, he understood that now, but he was still Dean's brother. His precious little brother, who the hunter had vowed to protect, no matter what it took.

And that was an unbreakable vow, a promise that he'd keep until his deathbed, and even after that, in Heaven or Hell. Sam was his blood, his family, even if he wasn't himself right now. And when they fought, Dean meant every word he said, how he'd cure Sam. Then, he was only acting on instinct, talking without actually thinking about what he said, the shock of seeing those black eyes on Sam short-circuiting his brain. But now that he had time to actually think about it, he knew that he was speaking the truth. There was a cure, something that may or may not work, but he didn't have time to waste. He would try any and everything to save his brother, to bring the old, real Sam Winchester back, who was surely there somewhere…

He didn't spend months searching for Sam to then save him for nothing.

He and Sam have been through so much together, fought good and evil, and worse. Today wasn't going to be the day Dean would give up. No matter what it took, how much he'd have to suffer for it, to sacrifice and do, he would save his brother. There was nothing, past or present, that he would put in front of Sam. It had never been like that, ever, and would never be. He wouldn't try, but _do_ it, bite and claw until Sam was back to normal, and if he'd have to do some terrible things, some downright sick ones in the process, then so be it. Dean didn't care, his mind was set.

And anyway, he'd deserve whatever's waiting for him. It was his fault that Sam ended up in Hell, that he became a demon, and he would pay for it. By death or worse, he didn't mind, because he knew that he had it coming. Dean's got a bone to pick with one of the Fate sisters anyway, so he wouldn't run from it, from his fate, the dark, horrible future that's surely written for him. This story, his story, could only end in tears, blood and horror, an image painted in crimson. And Dean was at peace with his inevitable doom, as long as he managed to at least get his brother back.

Because at least he knew that Sam would be capable of living a normal life with him gone, go on and survive without him. Dean, however…wouldn't.

Couldn't.

He let out an exasperated sigh as he cleared his mind. It was time for him to get his shit together, because Sam wasn't going to get cured by himself. And, to his greatest fear, the cure might not even work. All he knew was what he saw from the film and voice recordings the Father had left, which wasn't much. He needed purified blood, a lot of time, and a few fancy words, then wrap the whole thing up with a bloody hand sandwich, but he had no idea where he could find any purified blood. He thought about somehow getting his own blood to work, but didn't know how one could purify their own blood. Maybe by coming clean about everything, all the sinful things he'd done in his life, though that would take up a whole day, and he didn't really have any confession booths conveniently lying around in the bunker either.

He would have to think about that later, not having time for it right now, as what he had to take care of first was Sam, his safety. Getting him, the demon, to the dungeon and tying him to the chair in the middle of the devil's trap was a priority.

A small smile crossed his face as he thought back to when he and Sam emerged from Purgatory with the reaper. Dean didn't understand what was wrong with his brother then, why he wouldn't just walk across the room, however now it was all so obvious, just like the reason why he seemed to freak out upon hearing Castiel's name. An angel could see a demon's true face, after all.

He felt like burying his face in his hands and just stay in the corner of a room, but he couldn't afford to be weak, not now. Clearing his throat and making up his mind for real this time, Dean opened the first drawer, then closed it after he couldn't find anything. He did the same thing with the next two drawers, and when he stepped aside and began looking through the next set of drawers, he finally hit the jackpot.

There it was, the large key ring, holding many keys which led to the approximately thirty or more rooms in the bunker. He grabbed it and shut the drawer, making his way back to Sam's room, but soon froze in place when he heard the shouting, followed by a loud banging.

"Kevin?" Dean yelled, immediately running towards the sounds, then stopped abruptly when he finally got to the room. "Kevin, what's going on?" he demanded as fear seized him like icy cold hands, threads of barbed-wire fingers wrapping around his heart and squeezing, panic slowly overcoming his body. He immediately thought of the worst as he watched the prophet pounding on the door and trying to open it, but nothing seemed to work.

"I don't know!" Kevin sounded desperate and confused, and maybe as scared as Dean. "I was guarding the door when I heard the lock. I don't know how that's possible, since you have the key, but the door's somehow locked. I tried breaking it down, but it's like the door's not even made out of wood anymore. And I tried calling for Sam, asked him if he's okay, but…" The prophet trailed off, lowering his gaze and the look in his eyes, that of concern and unease, made Dean feel even worse than before.

"What? What is it?!" he snapped, suddenly pushing the kid out of the way, and banged on the door. "Sam? Goddamn it Sam, say something!" Dean shouted, but when all he heard was silence, he kicked the door and tried opening it with the appropriate key on the ring. When even that didn't work, he growled and turned to Kevin, his clenched fists shaking. "Why isn't he answering?"

"Dean, I'm not sure," Kevin said, glancing at the floor, and when he looked back at the hunter, he let out a nervous sigh. "After I heard the door getting locked, I tried opening it for a while, but when that didn't work I pressed my ear against the door in hopes of hearing something. And I did. I think Sam was talking to someone and, judging from the voice I heard…it was Crowley."

"You can't be serious!" Dean bellowed, punching the door with his already injured fist. He seriously had to stop punching things out of the blue. "So, what, did that son of a bitch take Sam?"

"I couldn't say. Just now, the voices stopped and then Sam started screaming," Kevin said, glancing at the door. "I don't know what happened in there, but from the way I heard it, Sam was in pain. I mean, a lot of pain. I swear he sounded like some kind of tortured animal, Dean, and I'm really worried about what could've happened to him."

"You're not making things any better, Kevin. I'll try and break this damn door down, but I need your help. Here." He tossed the key ring to the prophet. "Take this, and go to the storage room. Third door to the left. Bring me the crowbar, or an axe, or anything that could tear this fucking door to pieces. And hurry!" he shouted after Kevin as the kid nodded and turned on his heel, running off to find the storage room. Dean realized how rude he was, as if he was addressing some kind of slave instead of his friend, but his mind and judgment was covered by a storm cloud, filled with all sorts of emotions, but mostly terror.

He started banging on the door again, refusing to give up, not now, not ever. "Sam? Sam, if you're in there, just… I don't know, make a sound or something! I swear to god, if you're gone, I'll find you, beat the literal _Hell_ out of you, and then drag your ass back here before you know it!" he threatened, bumping his head against the door when all he heard in return was the dead silence, making him more worried by the second, which seemed to pass slower than usual, each one of them feeling like an eternity.

Finally, he saw Kevin carrying an axe and a crowbar in his hands when he came back, stopping in front of the door and raising both weapons hesitantly. "I didn't know which one to pick so…" He shrugged, glancing at the door. "Still nothing?"

"Yeah, jack shit," Dean grumbled, grabbing the axe from the prophet's hand, then turned towards the door. "Sam," he shouted. "If you're in there, I suggest you get away from the door. This is your last chance. You either come out, or I swear I'm breaking this piece of wood down!" the hunter warned, waiting for an answer, and when none came, his heart sank.

He hoped for something, a sound or a voice, anything, but Dean had to realize that maybe his brother was already long gone, and all he'd find at the other side of the door would be Sam's empty room.

Scowling, he pushed all his feelings of unease and worry down and away, having no time to deal with unwanted emotions. Then, he raised the axe and swiftly brought it down on the door, the head immediately getting stuck in it. Dean cursed and tugged until it finally dislodged from the door, leaving a vertical cut, however not wide enough for Dean to be able to look through it. He tightened his grip on the handle and kept on abusing the door with the axe, shattering the wood with each blow until the hole in it became large enough for the man to even put his hand through, if he so wished.

Not really into picking splinters out of his arm, Dean settled for simply looking through the hole, and felt a wave of relief, followed by dread as he noticed the condition his brother was in. "Sammy?" Dean shouted worriedly, moving the axe to the door knob, then began destroying that with the weapon in hopes of getting to the other side of the door and to his sickly looking brother as fast as possible. And when he heard the sound of the metal knob hitting the tiled floor, he hurriedly kicked the door in, and rushed to his demon brother who was sweating and clutching his chest, sitting on the bed and looking like a dead man. His face was pale and, even for a demon, he looked like he'd just been through Hell.

"Sam?" Kevin stepped in the room, but stayed near the doorway if Sam was to Hulk out or something, the demon unpredictable and dangerous even to those who loved him, who he once used to care for.

"C'mon man, say something," Dean begged desperately, taking the dazed demon's face in his hands and raising his head so that the hunter could take a closer look at his brother. And he didn't look swell. "Tell me to go to Hell, push me away, just- please!" He looked Sam over and furrowed his brow as he searched for something, a wound or a mark, anything that would explain his brother's behavior.

However he didn't have to look for long, as the demon blinked, then suddenly slapped Dean's hands away and stood up, a sly smile curling at the corner of his lips.

"Don't get ahead of yourself Dean, I'm not dying. I'm _fine_ ," he said, taking a deep breath and nonchalantly scratching the back of his head. "Just had a moment, that's all." Sam shrugged, patting his confused brother's shoulder as his eyes turned from black to hazel, the sudden change taking the hunter by surprise.

"No. C'mon Sam, enough with the lies already. You're cuffed and we obviously have the upper hand here, so maybe you should tell us what really happened, don't you think?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a step back and then glared at his brother, really having enough of getting betrayed and deceived. If Kevin was right, Crowley was here, and Sam sure as hell didn't look fine when Dean first entered the room.

Rolling his eyes, the demon sat back on the bed and raised his hands, as if to say he didn't know what Dean was talking about. "Look at me, I'm doing okay. What you saw was nothing more than…a few symptoms of withdrawal. That's all there is, Dean, don't go complicating things for yourself."

"Withdrawal?" Dean frowned, crossing his arms in front of his chest and not believing a word the demon uttered. "Really now? And from what exactly? Torturing the helpless? Or maybe from being a complete asshole?"

"You…" Sam smiled, shaking his head and letting out a small, disbelieving chuckle. "You naïve idiot. Not everything revolves around torture and pain for us demons. Well, for most maybe, but not for me. There's something I love way more than torture, and as a demon that's saying something. C'mon Dean, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

Dean opened his mouth, about to ask the demon what in the world was he talking about, when it hit him. His eyes widened and the hunter shook his head, refusing to believe it, but he couldn't think of anything else his brother could be addicted to. He smiled in disbelief, then narrowed his eyes and glared at Sam. "No," he said through gritted teeth, "you're clean. You told me yourself, that whatever put us on that plane when the Cage opened, also cleaned you."

"And remember how I had to drink a few gallons of the stuff to let the Devil in? Dean, this can never go away. And now, like this, with the way I am, I don't want it to go away. I fucking embraced it and man, is it awesome!" Sam laughed, his eyes shifting back to black as he grinned at the hunter, who just stood there, his whole world crashing down.

Not only was Sam a demon, but he was also a cannibal. A demon drinking demon blood—the ultimate beast.

"Wow," Dean nodded, clapping his hands. "You must be proud of yourself. But you know what? I don't care," he said, then suddenly grabbed Sam's handcuffs and yanked on them, hauling the demon to his feet. He held the chain firmly as he turned to the prophet still standing in the doorway. "Open the door to the dungeon. We'll be there in minute," he said, motioning for Kevin to hurry, before looking back at his brother. "Listen closely, because this is the last time I'm gonna tell you. _This_ …this black eyed, sadist of a monster isn't you. Not really. The Sam I know would never enjoy hurting people, let alone go back to the mess he was and start drinking demon blood again. So I don't give a rat's ass about what you've done these past months, because whatever it is you killed, or tortured, or embraced, that wasn't my brother doing it, but the dark crap inside him. We all have it, that disgusting darkness—it's just that we push it down until we actually believe it might be gone, though it never is. All that's happening is you going Mr. Hyde, all the ugly and bad you've been keeping in showing its rotten teeth, all at once. So it's you, it's not you, it's both, I don't care. Because end of the day, I will do everything in my power, and even what should be impossible, to cure you and get _my_ brother back," he said and, for the first time in a long time, heard confidence in his own words.

He truly believed what he said, finally accepting that Sam was and was not this demon, and he was ready to go to the end of the world, to Hell, Heaven, Purgatory or anywhere else in order to rid his brother from this darkness, no matter how liberating it could feel not having to feel all those human emotions. But it were those painful emotions that made people human, and Dean would be damned if he wouldn't do everything until Sam was back, as a full, flesh and blood, whiny and emotional human.

The demon, on the other hand, seemed to doubt the hunter's resolve. "Yeah, well that was a really nice, very emotional speech you gave me there Dean, but I'm afraid that none of those words will have any meaning the moment you finally get it through that thick skull of yours that no matter what you do, you won't be able to cure me. That's just how it is, cowboy," Sam stated, smirking at his brother, who just shrugged and smiled right back at the demon.

"Whatever you say, Hannibal," he said, before he began dragging the bound, sneering demon towards their dungeon. Sam stayed silent all the way, however when they entered the room, he stopped in front of the devil's trap and refused to move, while glaring daggers at Dean.

"Last chance, Dean. You can stop now, or face your inevitable failure," the demon growled, his pitch black eyes seemingly staring right into the hunter's soul, but Dean shook his head and shoved his brother inside the circle that trapped him in place.

"Nope. Sorry, but in a few hours, you'll be a changed man. Oh, sorry, demon." He chuckled, going after Sam and pushing him down into the chair. He quickly tied his ankles to the its legs, and found another handcuff with which he cuffed one of Sam's wrists to the arm of the chair after he unlocked the previous cuff that held his wrists, and used that one to secure his other wrist. "There," he said, taking a step back and smiling down at the demon, "I'd like to see you escape from this."

"Contrary to what you believe, I have no intentions of escaping, Dean. Not anymore," the demon declared, leaning back in the chair and looking like someone who's having a great time. He smiled right back at Dean, his smile dark and sinister, like the low whisper of the Grim Reaper.

"Well, that just makes my job easier, then," he said, before turning around and walking to Kevin. "Keep an eye on him while I'm gone," Dean told the prophet, who nodded and took out a silver flask, then upon noticing the look the hunter was giving him, he shrugged.

"What? It's only holy water, not alcohol," Kevin said, smiling when Dean rolled his eyes and mumbled something along the lines of 'goody two shoes', before leaving the room.

He wasn't comfortable leaving Kevin with Sam, but he needed to somehow find some pure blood, and he had no idea where to even start to look. At first, he thought of Castiel, since what could have possibly been more pure than an angel, but then changed his mind. On the video, and the voice recording, Father Thompson used his own purified blood, as in human blood, to cure the demon. So angel blood probably wouldn't work, and Dean wasn't ready to risk it. Which left him with his own blood, and he wasn't really the role-model type, one whose blood was all holy and pure. He also didn't know the first thing about purification, never fancying churches or any places of the Lord, who they now knew was out there, not particularly giving a crap about anything that was going on with his kids, or anyone really.

So, he needed to brainstorm. Obviously, he should have done that way earlier and not before he's about to cure his demon brother, but beggars choosers, he didn't have time to worry about small details before. "Small details, my ass," he mumbled to himself, pondering if he should outright facepalm himself or just stew in his own juices for a while. Seriously, how could he have classified the acquirement of pure human blood as a _small detail_? Sometimes even he was surprised by his own fuckups.

Unfortunately, he didn't know any ways to purify one's blood, unless it was a natural purification, having nothing to do with God and all that holy crap. There were tons of ways to cleanse your blood, by eating the right food or using the appropriate herbs. Just munch on some cat's claws and wham-bam, you've got yourself some pure blood! Now go and stuff your face with cheeseburgers!

The reason as to how Dean knew any of that… Well, he'd probably never admit them to anybody, not even to himself. Some guilty pleasures were meant to stay hidden.

Anyway, what he needed was a legitimate purification, which would make his blood literally pure, in the eyes of the Lord. Even thinking about it made his skin crawl, though, as he really wasn't into these holy things. No wonder he only had one angel friend, and even he was more of a human than a winged dick.

"Damn it, focus," Dean told himself, frowning as he flopped down in a chair that wasn't broken to pieces or knocked over. He looked over the wreckage, the results of their fight, and sighed. The hunter didn't know what to do, and he hated it.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and stared at it for a while, wondering who to call if he were to decide to ask for help, but after a few moments, he put the thing back in his pocket and buried his face in his hands. There was something, an idea, in the back of his head but he wasn't ready to do that. Not yet. He couldn't bring himself to do it, but he had to realize how selfish that was towards Sam, who was a demon because of Dean's fault.

He really, really didn't want to do it, though.

He couldn't afford to be squeamish, to be so weak. Because damn it, it was his little brother's life on the line here, and if that meant Dean would have to do the only thing he refused to even think about, something he was always scared of doing, well, tough luck. He'd do it, now or never, and never was out of the question.

It was time for Dean Winchester to confess his sins. Each and every one of them.

He stood up, hopefully with his resolve intact, and headed toward his room. Locking the door behind him as soon as he entered, Dean glanced around his room with guns on the wall and pictures of his mother, father and Sam on the bedside table. He wasn't familiar with the procedures, however saw enough movies and was intelligent enough to guess what was coming next.

He walked to his bed, knelt down, and put his hands on top of it, then after a long minute of hesitation, he reluctantly put his hands together and closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn't screw this up. He did feel a bit stupid like this, and it wasn't like God would listen to him anyway, but since there would be no way he'd drive to a church and confess to a Father, he'd settle for this instead, for confessing alone.

"So…" Dean started, clearing his throat nervously. "I guess I should say something like 'forgive me Father, for I have sinned', but I'm really not good with the formal, holy talk. Still, I do solemnly swear that whatever I'll say from now on, while I confess, will be the truth, and only the truth," he said, remembering that line from an old law TV series, but quickly stopped himself from smiling and got down to business. This was going to be tough.

"Anyway, to whoever's out there, if anyone is listening, then here goes." The hunter took a deep breath, and then began his confession. "I'm sorry for being a bad son, for giving crap to my father who was just doing his job, his damnedest to raise us well. I'm sorry for dragging my brother back to this life. I regret showing up on that doorstep, sneak in that room in Stanford and say those words that changed my little brother's life for the worst. I'm also sorry for all I've put Sam through ever since that day. He died because of me, and when I went to Hell, he spent a year of his life trying to look for me, turning into a man he wasn't.

Speaking of Hell, I'm sorry for torturing all those souls, and loving every second of it. I never should have broken, never should have picked up that razor. I'm sorry for starting the Apocalypse. I'm sorry for letting Sam walk away with Ruby, that I wasn't strong enough to put my feet down and just say no. I'm sorry about all those innocent deaths I caused, all that blood that's on my hands. And I'm sorry for those whom I couldn't save. I'm sorry that Sam went to Hell, that he had to suffer because of me, because of my actions down there. I'm sorry for dragging Adam into this mess, that the poor kid died, then got pulled back again, and then finally ended up in Hell. I'm sorry for making Ben and Lisa's life a nightmare, and about the fact that she nearly died because of me. I'm sorry for not realizing soon enough all that was wrong, how Sam was missing a soul, how our own grandfather was a two faced bastard, and how Cas had gotten off the rails and went rogue. I'm sorry for working for Crowley. I'm sorry for being weak and naïve, for letting myself be tricked all the time. Speaking of tricks, I'm also sorry for the Tricks- I mean Gabriel's death. And all my friends, Ellen, Joe, Ash, Pamela, Henriksen and everyone else, the list is endless. More people died because of us than we saved, and I'm truly sorry about that.

I'm sorry for letting Cas open Purgatory. I'm sorry for failing to stop that evil, black ooze from entering our world, and corrupt it. I'm sorry that Castiel had to sacrifice himself over and over for us. I'm sorry for the death of the hunter that was like a father to both me and Sam, Bobby Singer. And I'm sorry for leaving him in Hell, and I promise that I'll get him out as soon as Sam gets better, that I will find a way to get his soul outta that rotten place. I'm sorry for dragging that poor kid, Kevin, into this life as well. Even our previous prophet had it bad, but Kevin's just a kid. And I'm sorry for not being able to do anything when Sam was clearly in pain, when the hallucinations messed with his brain. I'm sorry that I didn't realize it sooner, just how much pain my brother was in, how in the end he ended up in a hospital. I'm sorry for leaving Cas in that place afterwards. I'm sorry about that whole thing with the angel, how we had to force him to help us even though he was clearly mentally unstable, though it was kind of his fault. I'm sorry that…well, yes, she wasn't really the best, but I'm sorry that Meg died. She was our ally. Sometimes. I'm sorry, on Sam's behalf, for leaving Kevin alone for a year. And also for leaving Cas in Purgatory, in that corrupt place where everyone was dinner on legs. I'm sorry for all the horrible, sick things I've done in that place. I'm sorry for not dealing with Crowley when I could have, too.

I'm sorry for getting mad at Sam because he didn't look for me when I went to Purgatory. I'm sorry for not realizing soon enough how Cas was being used, again. I'm sorry for letting it get out of hand, for it to escalate to such an extent. I'm sorry that our father grew up without one of his own, because of us. And Abaddon. I'm sorry that, even after rescuing a good man, vampire, he still died because of me. By my own hands, and for nothing. And I'm sorry for letting Sam take on the Trials, when it was supposed to be my place to suffer through them. I'm sorry for taking too long… I'm sorry for letting my little brother turn into the very thing we hunt and hate," Dean said, squeezing his eyes shut in order to stop the emotions that built up from spilling out. "Oh, and I'm also sorry about that thing I did to Penny Marko in sixth grade. Amen."

He let out a long sigh, desperately hoping that it worked. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times, not really feeling any purer in particular.

"Well, let's do this." Dean stood up, really hoping that the blood that was flowing in his veins was holy and pure. He took one last look at his room, before walking out and to a place where they kept their medical tools, bandages and even saws.

Entering the room, the hunter looked around for a minute or two, opening and closing drawers and cabinets, before he finally found what he was searching for. He grabbed the syringe and needle, holding them carefully as he left the medical room and headed towards the dungeon.

"How did it go?" Kevin asked right after Dean closed the door behind himself, his eyes locking on the demon in the middle of the room.

Sam was staring at the floor, but he must have felt the hunter's gaze, because he slowly raised his head and, upon noticing his brother, grinned. And Dean wasn't sure if it was that sick grin itself, or the wicked look in the demon's eyes, but he found himself unable to look away, a shudder passing through his body.

"Dean?" he heard the prophet's worried voice, and he quickly snapped out of his daze, blinking and ripping his gaze away from the grinning demon to look at his friend.

"Yeah uh, better than expected, I guess. Though I don't feel like a saint all of a sudden, so who know, maybe my blood's too corrupt," Dean joked, laughing bitterly as he glanced at his hands.

"Hey, we both saw what happened on that video, Dean. Acquiring some pure blood isn't that hard, so if you confessed all of your sins, you really have nothing to worry about," Kevin said reassuringly, patting the man's arm before nodding towards the bound demon. "So…are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." He smiled a weak, thin lipped smile, then without thinking too much about what he was about to do, he walked over to his little brother. He assembled the syringe with the needle, and then wagged the thing in front of the demon while flashing a cocky smirk. "So, any idea as to what I'm about to do? Come on, guess."

Tilting his head, Sam looked from the syringe to the hunter, then raised his eyebrows. "Really, Dean? You're going to poke me until I roll over and turn into a human? Oh wait, I've got an idea! Why don't you inject me with some holy water, see if that helps, you desperate idiot," the demon sneered, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. He went on for a few more seconds, while Dean and Kevin exchanged a look, then shook his head and glared at his brother. "You never cease to amaze me. But go on, do whatever you want. I'm gonna enjoy watching you fail, you great, big, bloody hero, you."

Dean stayed silent for a moment, then nodded and took off his jacket, before rolling up his sleeve on his left arm. "Say what you want, bark like a dog, but if you'd have forgotten, you're on a leash, Toto. And by the way, your holy water idea? Not bad, but I've got something way better planned for you," he said as he pressed the tip of the needle against the vein bulging on his elbow pit, before sliding the thin steel into the skin and the vein. He watched closely as the red fluid filled the barrel, while he pulled the plunger between his fingers and extracted as much blood as possible. When the barrel was finally full, he removed the needle from his arm and closed the distance between him and the confused-looking demon, then smirked. "What?" he asked. "Not what you expected?"

"You must be joking," Sam scoffed, glaring up at Dean. "I mean, seriously? Just what good will donating your blood do here, huh? Is _this_ how you're planning on curing me? Because if yes, then man, you're even more desperate than I imagined."

"Oh, you think this is funny?" Dean asked, then grabbed the demon's hair and pulled his head back, before jabbing the needle in his neck. Sam grunted, trying to move his head and yank it out from the hunter's grasp, but failed miserably, Dean holding his brother's hair firmly while injecting him with his own blood. When he was done, and the syringe was empty, Dean let go of the snarling demon's hair and took a step back to look him over. Nothing was happening, and the man frowned, the feeling of disappointment gradually washing over him; however just when he thought he messed up, that his blood wasn't pure enough, Sam's eyes suddenly widened and he began screaming.

Which wasn't exactly what he expected, either.

"Shit, Sammy?" Dean quickly moved over to his gasping brother, who looked confused and in pain, before pressing two fingers to his neck. He cursed loudly upon realizing that Sam's pulse was out of control, and from the way he was sweating and clenching his fists, whatever was going on could hurt even demons. Which wasn't the plan. Dean wanted to cure his brother, not torture him, for fuck's sake!

"Dean, here." Kevin drew the hunter's attention and threw a wet towel at Dean, who only managed to catch it at the last moment. He nodded his thanks to the prophet before turning back to his groaning brother, then began wiping Sam's sweat covered face with the cold towel, making the demon hiss.

It took Dean approximately three minutes to calm Sam down, before everything went back to normal.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam growled, swallowing thickly, and glared at his brother from behind the few strands of hair that have fallen in front of his face. "Is this your great idea of _curing me_? Jeez, if you wanted to blow off some steam and hurt me, you should have just said the word."

"It was supposed to hurt…but not this much. I don't know what's going on, but from where I'm standing, as long as we can get you to drop those black eyes, I'm ready to do more than just hurt you, Sam. You need to understand, I'm doing this for your own good," Dean said, letting out a sigh of despondence, before glancing at his watch. "See you in an hour, Sammy."

And with that, he turned his back to his brother and walked out of the room, Kevin following him after making sure that the bookshelf doors were securely closed. They both walked to the library, Dean not even caring about the mess anymore.

"Dean?" Kevin's voice was low and gentle, obviously worried about both him and Sam. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than Sam, that's for damn sure," he scoffed, rubbing his face and feeling tired for some reason. "I don't understand. I've done everything the way I was supposed to, haven't I? So then why, what hurt Sam that much? In the motion picture we saw, the demon Father Thompson cured wasn't taking it half as bad as Sam!" Dean bellowed, slamming his hand on the table.

"Look Dean, you heard him. He isn't your everyday demon. He's not possessed, and eats demons. Or drinks them…which, for the record, I haven't been informed about at all. What's up with Sam chugging demon blood all of a sudden?" Kevin asked curiously, stepping closer to the hunter, although keeping a safe distance just to be sure.

Dean sighed, not knowing where to start, or if he even wanted to talk about it. Too much crap has happened these days, these months, and if he was an alcoholic before Sam went to Hell, then he sure as fuck needed some help now. His demon blood was whiskey, from which he had tons of in the fridge, a never ending stash he used as a substitute for food. He really just wanted a break from all of this, but he couldn't snap, not now, not yet, he couldn't walk away. Still, it was so hard to go on after all that has happened, but clenching his fists, Dean took a deep breath and made up his mind, for the umpteenth time.

Curing his brother was number one on his to do list, and Sam's odd drinking problems obviously needed urgent care, way more than Dean's. "It's a long story. Sam's been different for a very long time. A demon, Azazel, bled into his mouth when he was a kid and fucked him up for good. So now demon blood for Sam is the same as crack for a junkie."

"But Sam's a demon too, so isn't that cannibalism?" Kevin asked.

"I guess so. But anyway, let's not get off track here. Our main problem isn't with Sam's addiction, at least not yet, but with the damn cure," he sighed, leaning against the side of the table, and glanced at the little red wound on his arm left by the needle. "You really think his reaction was normal?"

"Honestly? Yes." Kevin nodded, the seriousness of his tone making the hunter look up. "I'm sure that whatever's going on, it has nothing to do with the cure. I mean, with its efficiency."

"Yeah…I guess you're right," Dean agreed. Thinking back to the recording, even the demon the Father managed to cure suffered, though not as much as Sam. But Sam wasn't normal, they already established that, so him hurting from the cure could only mean that it was working. Sort of. At least Dean was pretty convinced that it was.

"So, what now? We wait for an hour then you give him another shot of your blood?" the prophet asked after a moment of silence, gaining a shrug from Dean.

"Yep. And I'm gonna keep on dosing him with my blood until he loses those black eyes and turns back into the Sam I know," he declared with his mind set, hoping that he wouldn't screw anything up.

And that he wouldn't ruin his brother, and his life, more than he already had.


	10. Chapter X

**Chapter X**

Meanwhile, the demon was pretty sure that the walls have gained a life of their own, and were closing in around him.

Sam cursed under his breath, tugging at the handcuffs but no matter how strong he used to be as a demon, his powers were gone, locked away, leaving him with his human strength with which he couldn't break the chains. He tried taking deep breaths, not like he actually needed to breathe anymore, but he needed to focus on something else, something that wasn't his blood pulsing in his ears. Blinking little drops of sweat out of his eyes, he clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, just wanting this to stop, to end already.

He knew withdrawal would be a bitch.

At first, Sam was confident. He felt smug and fearless, even as his brother shoved the needle into his neck. When his muscles tensed, the human blood entering his system, that's when the demon became agitated. He didn't expect pain, didn't expect anything, actually, so when a sudden wave of nausea hit him, he was more than a little surprised. And it just got worse, the feeling of wanting to faint while sitting followed by a sharp pain through his whole body, as if the blood itself that was flowing through his veins was poison, boiling and gradually eating away at his insides.

It hurt a lot, but luckily the pain went just as quickly as it came, leaving Sam with only a few moments of bliss before the symptoms of withdrawal were upon him, and he couldn't ignore them anymore.

Dean left around fifteen minutes ago, leaving the demon in the dimly lit dungeon, where he was going through the worst experience in his life. It was like Hell, only way worse. Withdrawal was a whole new world, a whole new level of pain, physical, mental, and spiritual. Sam felt like screaming in rage and agony, wanted to claw at his skin, rip his own body apart just to get to some demon blood. Those damn binds were stopping him, though, rendering him motionless which was a torture worse than getting stabbed with a stake a thousand times.

And he knew how much that could hurt, could still remember how removing the splinters from his insides felt like.

His hands were trembling, and when Sam opened his eyes, he noticed that not only those, but his whole body was starting to shake. He chewed on his lips, bit down on his bottom lip until he tasted blood, then let out a pathetic little whimper as he ran his tongue over the small wound, the amount of blood not even close to what he needed. And his own blood wouldn't cut it either. Sam needed another demon, its throat in front of him, so that he could tear and rip at the flesh, and feel the warmth of that crimson drug against his tongue. Just the thought of it made him shiver. He couldn't take it anymore, and who knew how long Dean planned on keeping him locked up like this. He knew he really should have killed that demon back then, instead of letting his curiosity get the better of him, but it was useless thinking back at it now.

Withdrawal was a cruel mistress. At first, the demon managed to convince himself that everything was fine, that he was okay, and that it would pass. And it did, for a while—however came back tenfold. When it hit him again, it was way worse than the first time, but Sam, being the strong soul even as a demon, brought himself to push all that craving down, until he managed to forget about it. It worked again, thankfully, but even then he knew that next time would be different. Third time's a charm. Alone in the darkness, stewing in his own juices and with his own memories as the only means of entertainment, Sam was breaking. And it wasn't Dean, or that damn cure that was doing this to him, rendering him to such a mess, but his own addiction, his own fucking burden.

He couldn't help but laugh, all of a sudden, just let it all out in a fit of miserable laughter that went on longer than anticipated, until the demon's eyes began watering. He slowly shook his head, his chuckles dying down as he gripped the wooden arms of the chair and dug his nails into them, some of them breaking in the process. It was horrible, this feeling of uselessness, complete and utter hopelessness. He would have given _anything_ for someone to get him the hell out of here, so that he could rush back to Hell and feast on every moving fiend in that place.

But that seemed impossible, as he couldn't even gather enough blood to make a call, and demon blood wouldn't even work, even if he'd find a way somehow. His lips were dry, way too dry, and so was his throat, and his tongue kept getting stuck to the roof of his mouth.

When he glanced around the dark room, he realized that it was actually way brighter than what he thought, the dark spots only present in his eyes, his vision. His ears were ringing, and the monotone pulsing sounds of his heartbeat were driving him mad. Those growing feelings of longing, the ache in his chest and in his very fibers were getting worse by the minute, and Sam knew that it wouldn't take long before he'd snap.

And honestly, he really didn't want to find out what would happen if it came to that.

Going through hysterics, Sam didn't know how long he'd been suffering, but apparently an hour must have passed, as suddenly he heard a sound that was intensified by his sensitive senses. The door opened loudly, and he clenched his jaw as he raised his head and watched as the bookshelves separated, revealing his brother standing in the middle of the makeshift doorway with Kevin behind him.

"Well, you look like shit," Dean pointed out as he walked into the room and the devil's trap, holding that damned syringe in his hands.

"Aren't you a sweet talker," Sam sneered, his face probably wan and pallid, because that's sure as hell how he felt, sick as a dog. He cleared his throat, which proved to be surprisingly painful, and had a hard time keeping his eyes open as he glared at Dean, a snarl forming on his lips. "You better take that thing away from me, or we're gonna have a problem."

"Oh, I think we already have a problem here. A big one." He arched his eyebrows, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he raised the syringe, his smirk widening when the demon visibly shuddered from the movement. "C'mon Sammy, you know that shots are always good, even though I personally hate them. But this is for your own good, so that you'd get better and stop sporting those black peepers."

"Just because black isn't your color, doesn't mean it can't be mine, Dean," the demon hissed, tilting his head as his eyes flashed to black, and he couldn't help but grin when he saw that momentary look of sorrow in the hunter's own eyes. "What? Still not used to seeing your brother for who he _really_ is? Who he was always meant to be? The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"Bullshit," Dean retorted, closing the distance between him and the demon, before raising the, still empty, syringe to Sam's face. "See this? It's your ticket to freedom, Sammy, like it or not. You say you're supposed to be like this now, but that's just the demon talking, not the human. Not that brat that's got a heart three sizes bigger than others, who's too damn empathetic for his own good," he said, then pulled the syringe back from Sam's face and moved it to his arm instead, inserting the thin needle into his skin, and the demon watched in both fascination and anxiety as Dean's blood gradually filled the barrel of the syringe.

"Dean, you saw what that blood does to me, and you still wanna keep going? I can't feel the love here, man," Sam said, narrowing his eyes at the hunter, and then leaned away from the hand that wanted to take a hold of his head, to stop him from struggling. "Has it ever occurred to you that, maybe, what you're doing to me is the exact opposite of what you think? What if you're slowly killing me, huh? I mean, dosing me with human blood? You can't know what it might do to me, Dean!"

"No, actually, I know _exactly_ what it'll do to you," Dean stated, flexing his arm from which he extracted the blood. "It will heal you, turn you back. Cure you. So yeah, it might hurt, maybe even more than normal demons, but you ain't normal, Sam, and we both know that. This cure is legit, and you will be a good demon and sit through the whole goddamn eight hours, because I for sure am not going to let you get away. Not this time," he said, before taking the demon off guard by quickly stabbing the needle in his neck, Sam letting out an annoyed growl and trying to move his head away from the man, in vain.

"You don't unders—" Sam began, snarling at his brother as he pulled the once again empty syringe out from his neck, but stopped as a sharp, blinding pain shot through his neck, then quickly spread across his whole body, ripping a cry from the demon's throat. This time the hunter merely stood there as Sam suffered, gasping and panting in pain, and when he glanced at Dean for a second, he noticed how he couldn't even bring himself to watch, the hunter staring at the wall as if it held the universe's many secrets.

Sam couldn't keep his mind focused on something for more than about a few seconds before pain mangled his thoughts, and all he managed to do was writhe in the chair. It was just as bad as the first time, however maybe just a little bit better. Still, it hurt like fuck, as if his whole body was being slowly turned inside out and dipped in acid. And when it disappeared, the moment the pain was finally gone, the demon let out a deep sigh and released his grip on the chair, then he did something probably no demon had ever done. He uttered a silent prayer for his symptoms to stay away, for everything to just stop.

But of course, life hated the Winchesters.

"There, all better, aren't you?" Dean asked, rubbing the small wound on his arm, but when the demon stayed suspiciously silent, he stepped closer and looked him over with worry painted all over his face. "Sammy?"

"Go away," the demon growled through gritted teeth, his hands beginning to shake again, and not even gripping the arms of the chair helped anymore. Just as he expected, this was worse than the one an hour ago, and that made him think about what Dean said.

Eight hours.

Curing him would take eight fucking hours. No way, he wouldn't be able to take that, to survive without demon blood for at least seven more hours. And knowing how these attacks would keep on getting worse was the last drop.

Suddenly, he felt a strong wave of anxiety and began sweating again. His heartbeat accelerated, the nausea was back and he felt like choking, beginning to gasp for air. Sam was pretty sure he was having another panic attack, though this one was stronger and way more intense in an indescribable way. He was trembling harder, his vision disoriented as he glanced around the room frantically, his eyes searching for the unknown. At one point, he felt hands grabbing his shoulders, and realized that Dean was shouting his name, which he couldn't hear from the constant ringing in his ears.

"Sammy!" He finally heard his brother's desperate voice, and the demon blinked repeatedly as he raised his head to meet Dean's gaze, trying to mouth words, but he simply couldn't. He kept on telling himself this would pass, that he just had to wait, but for how long? Sam couldn't take it, not this, anything but this, but he promised himself he'd be strong and he would rather die than break down in front of his brother.

So, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the chair until it hurt, Sam gathered the last shred of his self-control and swallowed the pain, the nausea and his only weakness. "Dean," he groaned, opening his eyes which were now hazel, and looked into his brother's green ones. "Stop this. I can't…"

"No, Sam I can't stop now. I won't do it, I'm sorry." Dean shook his head, furrowing his brow, but the demon could see the sorrow etched onto his face, how this hurt him more than Sam. And he had to realize that Dean would stay true to his words, no matter what happened to him… No matter how much pain he was going to be in, in the coming hours, Dean would keep going just as promised.

Sam couldn't win this fight.

Only, he had already won. The cure might have messed him up and the withdrawal was hurting him, but Crowley made damn sure that Sam would stay a demon. And he might not trust the bastard, but he knew Crowley wouldn't want Sam as a hunter, just as much as Sam didn't want to go back to his old, weak, whiny self. So his brother's cure might be legit, but the King of Hell's anti-cure was better.

Which meant that all he needed to worry about now was the demon blood. He was craving, longing, lusting for even one drop of that poisonous honey, and seven more hours of solitude would _kill_ him. Probably not literally, but that wouldn't matter by then.

"This isn't…just because of the cure, is it?" Kevin asked all of a sudden, sounding uncertain as he stepped closer to the bound demon.

Frowning, Dean turned to the prophet. "What are you saying?" he asked, glancing at Sam from the corner of his eyes. "What isn't because of the cure?"

"If you're talking about my meltdown," the demon said suddenly, his voice slightly raspy, "then you're right. And I've been trying to tell you, Dean, but you weren't listening, as always."

"Tell me what? What's going on?" Dean demanded, looking from Kevin to his little brother, who had a scornful smirk on his lips. The hunter had no idea that Sam's withdrawal problems were this serious, though he knew that he was an addict. Obviously, he didn't take it well, but the demon didn't really care about his opinion or anyone's for that matter. All he cared about right now was the blood, and finding a way to acquire it.

"Dean, I need blood," Sam stated, narrowing his eyes as he looked at his brother. "Not your damn blood, but demon blood. I'm sure you remember that time you and Bobby locked me in the panic room, don't you? Well I sure do, and what I'm feeling right now, what I have to go through now is a hundred times worse."

"So you're still having withdrawal problems?" the hunter asked, to what the demon nodded. "Well, that's fantastic. Just great. But that isn't gonna change anything, Sam. I mean, what do you want me to do, just let you go and then hope that you'll come back so that I can continue with the cure? No, this just means that you have to be stronger. Both of us do."

"Dean, you don't get it!" Sam bellowed, yanking at the cuffs in frustration as he glared at the man. "I _can't_ take it. This will ruin me, once and for all, and if you're not going to bring a demon in front of me or get me some fucking demon blood one way or another, then I… I can't promise you that I won't turn into something even I'd rather not," the demon warned, a heavy silence following his words, which seemed to carry the inevitable doom and failure of this situation, and his own sanity.

But after a while, instead of taking the demon's warning into consideration, Dean just let out a long sigh and shook his head. "No. Sam, I'm not going to drag a demon to our bunker just to bleed it out for you, and I sure ain't gonna help you embrace your sick addiction. Because, man, chugging demon blood even as a human was nasty, but as a demon? That's just straight-out wrong," he said, the small frown never leaving his face. "So, that's a no way from me. It's time for you to go cold turkey."

"You're out of your mind, you goddamn lunatic!" Sam snapped, suddenly and violently. "You've never been a junkie in your whole miserable life, you don't know how it feels like! You never know when the next panic attack's gonna be, and when it hits you, it hits you hard! You think when the demon blood was slamming me across the room I had it bad? Just wait until a few more hours pass, be a complete sadist and wait it out, and then, maybe then, you'll understand what I'm talking about! It's not that I won't be able to take it, the whole withdrawal, but it's that I cannot! What don't you understand? I can't fucking take it, even as a black eyed, sulfur stinking, goddamn demon! Doesn't that give you an idea of the amount of pain I'm in, Dean? Where did _your_ humanity go, huh? Now that not everything's about you, but about your own little brother, you don't give a shit anymore? The moment it's not all about you, about your sad, miserable little feelings, you immediately stop caring, is that it? But then again, it has always been like that, right? You'd never admit it to yourself, but that's how you are. As long as the good man, the righteous Dean Winchester isn't alone, has everything he needs, he doesn't care about other people's problems, their opinions, oh no. However the moment, the very second something big and oh so terrible happens to you, you great savior of innocents, the whole world should just drop everything and weep with you, and soothe your fragile little soul! You weak, self-pitying, narcissistic, good for nothing hypocrite!" Sam shouted, snarling at the shocked man.

Dean's face was priceless, the demon not even trying to hide the chuckle that escaped his lips as he watched the hunter standing in front of him, frozen and speechless. The changes in his expression were like sweet euphoria for Sam, watching as his big brother's face turned from shocked, to betrayed, then sad and hurt, the amount of sorrow etched onto his face making him grin.

It took Dean a solid minute before he cleared his throat, a pathetic and rueful smile crossing his face as he took a step back. "Right. Fine, I had that coming, you're right. But you're wrong about me not caring about you, Sam. I would do anything for you, die for you in a heartbeat so…so don't you _dare_ say that I don't give a shit! It has never been like that, and will never be, for as long as I'm breathing. I need you to see that, to understand that, even if it may sound ridiculous to you now."

"Anything, you say? Then how about you fetch me a demon? Maybe then I'd believe something that comes out of your mouth," he growled, but Dean just sighed and just like that, turned on his heel and began walking out of the room. "Dean! Don't you dare think that this is over! You'll need to come back in an hour, you can't run from your responsibilities forever!"

The hunter stopped, then looked back over his shoulder. "That's where you're wrong, Sam. Curing you might be, but your withdrawal issues… Those are none of my business," he said, before disappearing behind the bookshelves, leaving the prophet alone with the infuriated demon.

"Sam…" Kevin tried, but the demon quickly cut him off, not in the mood for any more emotional speeches.

"Don't, Kevin, for your own good. Just don't," he hissed, scowling at the prophet. Kevin hesitated, opening and closing his mouth like he wanted to say something, but decided against it in the end and gave the demon a sad look before turning around and walking out of the room, locking the door behind him.


	11. Chapter XI

A/U: Thank you to everyone who stuck around and kept reading. This is the final chapter, but the sequel is coming soon. As in a few days. Maybe just one day. Anyway, thank you again, and I hope you enjoyed!

 **Chapter XI**

Many hours have passed, and Sam was feeling worse and worse, to the point where staying still for more than ten minutes proved nearly impossible.

"Screw this," he growled, glaring into the darkness. Dean had injected him with his own blood around four or five times after he left, Sam wasn't sure, as his mind had trouble keeping up with everything that was going on around him the more his withdrawal stretched out. The shots still hurt, although not as much as first, Sam getting used to the pain each time the needle entered his skin.

So his brother curing him wasn't a problem, but when it came to his withdrawal, things weren't that simple anymore.

And the demon wanted to scream, to shout, to rip these chains that held him apart and go crazy. He thought, or at least hoped, that with time it would get better, that the seizures and panic attacks would stop, but they only just got worse. At this point, he wasn't even sure how he managed to stay sane, the dull ache at his fingertips reminding him of the worst times, when he couldn't help but howl in rage, dragging and digging his nails into the arms of the chair and breaking each and every one of them in the process. The smell of his own blood was beginning to drive him mad, as it dripped to the floor from his abused fingers, and Sam found himself absentmindedly chewing on his lips, ripping out tiny pieces of it.

He ran his tongue over his chapped lips, a sick grin crossing his face. From nervous lip biting, he went to chewing and, now, desperately needing some demon blood, Sam couldn't take it anymore and bit down on his bottom lip, as hard as he could.

Pain shot through his lower lip and he groaned, but didn't stop. The demon was too far gone, unable to make one sane decision at this point, and he clenched his fists as he bit out a smaller piece of his flesh from his lip. He chewed, then swallowed the flesh, before shuddering at the sweet taste of his own blood, though that couldn't amount to the taste of another demon's blood. It just wasn't the same.

But the crimson that flowed through his veins having to be enough for the time being, Sam didn't hesitate to suck as much blood from the wound he created on his lip as possible. He was mutilating his own body, and this wasn't Hell, the parts he ripped off wouldn't grow back. But Sam was past caring.

His lip hurt as he sunk his bloodied teeth in it, ripping and tearing at his own soft flesh, blood running down his chin. The demon swallowed his blood greedily and eagerly, not wanting to miss a single drop, which he realized would be impossible with the large, gaping wounds he kept creating. After a few moments, blood was flowing uncontrollably from his mouth and Sam tried to squeeze his lips together to trap the blood in, but that just meant he'd choke first. Desperate and in a sort of frenzy, the demon felt like throwing a fit, helplessly swallowing his own blood and squeezing his eyes shut, so he didn't notice the doors opened, only when he heard the shocked yell of his brother, and then felt strong hands grabbing his chin, forcing his mouth open.

He was gagging and choking, sputtering blood as he gazed up at his brother, who watched him with wide, perplexed eyes, using his sleeve to wipe some blood off his chin.

"Fuck, Sam, you idiot!" Dean sniffed, making the demon wonder if his brother, the strong man who could keep his cool in most situations, would break down in tears in front of him. He kept on cursing under his breath as he looked Sam over, then when Kevin ran into the room and let out a surprised gasp, Dean shouted, "Kevin, get me a towel, now! Hurry!"

The prophet nodded and immediately left the room, returning after a while with a small kitchen towel. He gave it to Dean, who forced the snarling demon's mouth open, then stuffed the cloth between his lower lip and teeth.

"Now listen to me, Sam," the hunter growled, clasping his bloody hand over Sam's mouth. "You're gonna stay still and wait for the bleeding to stop. You're gonna do that, because if you won't, I swear to everything that you'll regret it. And you know that I'm not a man of empty threats," he said, staring deep into the demon's black eyes, and Sam knew then that he chose well. Deciding not to kill Dean and to just watch him suffer, fail at everything he tried was truly amusing, maybe even better than seeing those souls weep painfully in Hell.

Unable to speak with a freaking cloth in his mouth, the demon settled for glaring at his brother, and let out a small growl, just for the fun of it. Dean sighed, scratching the back of his head, then finally pulled his hand away from Sam's mouth and wiped the blood on his pants, watching his brother with sadness in his eyes.

"C'mon Sam," he pleaded, sounding like his heart shattered into a million little pieces by just having to look at the sorry state the demon was in. "There's only one shot left. You just have to make it through that one shot, and then you'll be golden, you'll see. But please, don't break just now… Not when we're so close," he said, taking Sam's face in his hands and looking into his eyes, as if searching for something remotely human, until instead of black, Dean was staring into big, hazel eyes. That took him by surprise and he frowned, but couldn't stop the tiny smile on his face, and that moment of happiness nearly made the wicked demon laugh.

Damn, playing with Dean was fun.

The hunter lowered his gaze and let out a small sigh after a moment, letting go of the demon altogether, then took a step back. "Five more minutes, Sam. Then I'll go get the syringe and we'll wrap this up, okay?" He tried to sound reassuring, comforting, but all Sam heard was hurt in the man's voice, and the desperation to keep his true feelings at bay. Dean wouldn't want all that sorrow and ugly surfacing, after all.

"Dean?" Kevin's voice came from the end of the room, the prophet standing in the doorway. "Can we talk for a second?"

"Sure." The hunter glanced at Sam, before walking over to the kid.

Thankfully, the demon managed to calm down for a bit, drinking his own blood satisfying his hunger for the moment. He knew it wouldn't last long, but for now, he'd settle for this. It was still better than nothing.

"—won't get any!" Dean shouted, quickly looking at Sam, then grabbed the prophet by his arm and dragged him out of the room. It looked like his brother was losing his cool, which just meant more fun for the demon. It was like watching a real life sit-com, only with more drama and sick plot twists. In other words, perfect for the sadistic demon.

Sam didn't have to wait for too long before Dean was back in the room, along with the syringe he promised. He set it down on a table at the corner of the dungeon, then walked to the bound demon and took the cloth out of his mouth. Sam coughed, wetting his numb and dry lips, then glared up at the hunter.

"Aw come on, don't give me that look. I had to muzzle you for your own good, and to stop the bleeding as well," Dean said, tossing the dirty cloth on the table before picking up the syringe.

"Have you ever considered that, maybe, I wanted to bleed out? Demons can do that, you know. Would have been pretty fun, watching you desperately trying to save a demon." Sam chuckled, hissing in discomfort as his lips twisted into a smirk. "Or what about this amazing cure? Still convinced that with that last shot, I'm going to just turn back into a human, like that? I really don't think you should take everything you find in here for granted, Dean."

"Oh please, the cure's the real deal." The man rolled his eyes as he pushed up his sleeve. "And after I inject you with this, you'll be back to normal in no time. So, try and enjoy your last minutes as a demon, because no matter how much you would love to believe it won't work, how much you want me to fail, I'm going to cure you. And we both know that I'm in the right here, Sammy."

"Sure you are, Dean." Sam nodded, ignoring the pain as he grinned and tilted his head, exposing his neck for the hunter. "Go ahead, poke me, jab me with your needle. Save your little brother from the darkness that engulfed his fragile little soul, oh great Dean Winchester," he mocked, taunting his brother as his eyes turned black.

Glaring, the hunter extracted as much blood as filling the barrel of the syringe would take, and stepped over to the grinning demon. "Whatever you say, Cujo," Dean mumbled, before sliding the thin needle in his brother's neck, and injected him with the last dose of his blood, the cure that could cure any demon.

Any and every demon, but Sam.

He felt the pain that followed every injection, but nothing was different in particular.

Well, at least until he began throwing up black ooze.

"Shit, Sam?!" Dean panicked, holding the demon's head as he lulled in and out of consciousness, while sudden spasm shook his body. He was just as confused as Dean was, as he watched the black blood leaving his body, and it felt like he was throwing up his very soul, the pain making him cry out. Sam was starting to have enough of all of this pain and suffering already, but that was just a passing thought, his mind getting overrun by thoughts like how much it fucking hurt, and how he just wanted everything to end already, please, just stop it!

When he finally stopped hurling like a drunkard at three in the morning, Sam gasped and cleared his throat, blinking dazedly, then pulled a face upon noticing the state his shirt and pants were in. Great. "Dean, you—" he began, thinking that it was over, that the agony had passed, but he had to realize that no, it was just the beginning.

The cure must have been fighting with whatever Crowley did to his soul, and Sam could feel it. Literally feel it, as something deep inside him was clawing at his soul, as if someone was trying to rip him apart from the inside. And it hit him in the middle of his sentence, making him emit such a deafening scream that it hurt even his ears. He snapped, at last, and struggled in the chair like a rabid animal, growling and roaring in pain, his voice sounding like something straight out of a nightmare. He definitely didn't sound like Hades before, however now, his voice was at least three pitches deeper than normal.

And from the looks of it, or at least what the demon saw when he wasn't in the middle of freaking out, Dean was hurting just as much as Sam, simply from having to listen to those agonizing howls. He couldn't take it for much longer, and before the demon realized it, he was suddenly on his feet and out of the chair, but he only managed to take two steps before collapsing onto the floor, heaving on his hands and knees like a sick dog.

All Dean could do at this point was kneel next to the demon and hold his shoulders, since no matter what, Sam refused to budge. Every fiber of his body was hurting, and just when he thought the pain would never end, he sucked in a surprised breath as it all just…stopped. Without any warning, just like that, the pain was gone, leaving the demon panting and wide-eyed.

Taking a few deep breaths, he sat down on the floor and looked down at himself, then at Dean, who watched him with curious eyes. A little out of it, the demon needed a moment to remember what his plan was, now that his brother was done with the cure, which obviously didn't work. Sam had two choices; he could either laugh in Dean's face and tell him that he was a failure, crushing his everything, his hopes and beliefs, his determination in one second, or he could decide to lead him on just a little bit longer, and see what would happen.

Sam blinked, turning his eyes hazel as a small smile crossed his face. "Dean…" he whispered, his eyes watering as he lowered his head.

"Sam? Are you… _you_ , again?" Dean asked cautiously, frowning as he watched his brother closely. Sam hid behind his mask of perfectly faked sadness and misery as he looked up at Dean and used his famous puppy eyes, looking as pitiful and desolate as possible.

"Why? Why did you help me?" he asked, his voice breaking from sorrow that wasn't actually there.

"You joking? There's no way I'd leave you like that, as a freaking demon," he answered, shaking his head as he pulled Sam into a hug, however after a few moments, he froze. The demon frowned, trying to pull away from his brother, but Dean's hold around him was too strong. "Sam?" he asked, his voice suspicious.

"Yeah?" Sam cleared his throat, looking at his brother with big eyes when Dean finally pulled away.

"You smell like sulfur," Dean stated, furrowing his brow. And that look on his face, how he seemed suspicious but in denial at the same time, that sweet mix of stubborn refusal and anguish, with just a hint of worry, was what caused Sam to finally lose it. He emitted a big hearty laugh as he threw his head back, Disney villain style.

"You should see your face!" The demon laughed, pointing at Dean, and had to close his eyes from the force of his laughter. "I can't believe you actually thought you could cure me! I mean, seriously Dean? A blood cure? Please tell me, what were you expecting from injecting your blood in me, huh? That blood is stronger than all, family comes first, or what? What delusions were you desperately holding on to, what kind of deranged fantasy? Because you couldn't have possibly thought that it would really work on me, right?" Sam scoffed as he ran a hand through his sweaty hair, and grinned at the wide eyed man. "Though you've gotta hand it to me, I'm awesome! Great actor, if I must say. I mean, I fooled you twice already! Twice! Damn, I'm better than Ruby ever was."

"Shut up…" Dean muttered, swallowing visibly and staring at the floor with a clenched jaw. "Just shut up!" he repeated, this time much louder, and raised his head, glaring at his brother. His glare was weak, however, filled with all his disappointment and crushed hopes, the wretched man obviously trying to cling, to hold on to whatever willpower he had left.

"What, can't handle the ugly truth, Dean?" Sam taunted, raising an eyebrow as his eyes flashed black, making the demon look as wicked and evil as ever. He licked his lips like a predator eyeing its prey, so close but just out of reach, then flashed Dean a depraved grin. "Hey, what do you say we play house a little longer? I enjoyed it quite a lot, how you tried so loyally, so—"

Whatever Sam wanted to say after that was cut off by his own groan as he got pushed, or more like tackled to the ground, Dean immediately appearing above him and wrapping his hands around the demon's throat.

"I said shut up! Is this all just a sick joke to you? Is it?!" he shouted, his hands shaking in rage, those built up emotions finally emerging, breaking through the dam in the hunter's heart and mind. Dean finally snapped, his eyes watering in anger and sorrow as he strangled the snickering demon. Unable to utter a word with the pressure on his throat, all Sam could do was let out a choked laugh, his wide grin never faltering even as Dean dug his fingers in his neck. They even kept eye contact, to see which one of them would break first. There was no need for words as both hunter and monster understood each other with one look, how this was a struggle for power, and none of them were ready to give up just yet.

Still, it was Dean who let it all go first, whose grip on Sam's throat loosened, but only after Kevin tugged on his shoulders, screaming and begging for him to stop, that he would only hurt Sam more than necessary, to just stop, Dean, enough.

"Come on, Dean, you shouldn't be with Sam right now…" Kevin said, dragging the hunter to his feet, but they only managed to take a few steps before Dean pulled away from the prophet and turned back to the demon kneeling on the floor.

"Why didn't it work?" he asked sternly, earnestly, making the demon raise his eyebrows.

"Why? Well…I guess I could tell you the truth, for once." Sam shrugged, before standing up straight, and walked as far as the devil's trap would let him. "Congratulations, your cure was, indeed, legit."

"What?" Kevin frowned, looking the demon over. "But you're still a demon."

"I am. But it's not your fault, or the cure's. It would have worked, if I wouldn't have taken some precautions."

"What precautions?" Dean asked, then narrowed his eyes, glaring at Sam. "Don't tell me…Crowley?"

"Exactly." He smirked, winking at his brother. "When you tried to be all chivalrous and broke down the door, well, before that, I had a little chat with Crowley. And the result of that chat was this, your fancy little cure not working."

"What did he do, Sam?" the hunter demanded, taking a step towards the demon, who simply laughed in his face.

"Please, you can't honestly think that I'd tell you? No, sorry, but that'll stay a secret between me and the great King Asshole himself. See, Dean? You tried so hard, so desperately but, end of the day, you still failed. There are just things you cannot change, no matter how much you try."

"Screw that!" Dean yelled suddenly, taking both Kevin and Sam by surprise. He stepped forward and grabbed the demon by his shirt, then glared right into his eyes. "Now listen to me Sam, both of you, demon and human. I've seriously had enough of this bullshit. I haven't tried to save your ass for almost a year so that everything could go to shit in the end! You say the cure works? That it was all Crowley's fault that I failed? Well, fine. That means that you _can_ be cured, and I just have to find a way to undo what that demon bastard did to you! And I will be damned if I couldn't, if I wouldn't do what I can to get to the bottom of this, because I didn't suffer for nothing. None of us did. So I swear to you, my promise still holds. I will fucking save you, drag you out of your little rebel teenager phase, even if it kills me. And you're gonna be a good little demon and sit it out, behave like you should until I find a way to make this right."

A short silence followed the hunter's speech, before Sam cocked his head and smiled. "Is that a challenge, Dean?"

"Take it as whatever you want, but you're staying here," he stated, his grip on the demon tightening.

"Really now? I'm not in chains anymore. I'm going to stay in the human world and keep on hunting, mainly for…snacks. And I won't let you stop me, not this time," Sam countered, his smile widening as he saw Dean's resolve growing by the second.

"No, you're staying with me, Sam."

"Dean, I really don't think that's up for debate. I'm not going to rot in the bunker until you magically find a way to cure me again. No way." The demon shook his head, and with a violent shove, pushed Dean away. "Since I have no interest in going back to Hell for now, I will keep on hunting. With, or without you."

Dean frowned, hesitating as he thought, then looked at Sam. "Then with me, because I won't let you out of my sight. That, I know for sure."

"So…we have a deal, then?" Sam asked, grinning as he watched his brother. This was becoming more fun, way better than what the demon had in mind. It was like killing two birds with one stone, if he could keep on hunting, while having the satisfaction of watching Dean trying and failing at finding another way of curing him, of lifting whatever was done to him, was put on Sam by Crowley.

The hunter stayed silent for a while, glancing at Kevin who didn't look too convinced by the battle plan, but there weren't many other options as good as this one. Dean let out a long sigh, then after another moment of hesitation, he reluctantly nodded and glared at Sam. "Fine, it's a deal. But I ain't kissing you. And if I see you killing, or even hurting, one innocent, I'm gonna drag you right back to the dungeon."

"No need to worry, Dean, there'll be no tongue action. This isn't an actual demon deal." Sam chuckled. "And I accept your terms and conditions, as long as you okay mines. You may be able to stop me from harming innocents, but not demons. If you understand what I'm getting at."

Scowling, Dean pulled a face as he shook his head. "No way. I can't let you—"

"I don't care what you can't or mustn't, or won't. You _will_ have to let me do it, or else I might accidentally go crazy on you…and I'm sure you wouldn't want a demon gone mad as your partner. Who knows what atrocities could happen?" Sam threatened, already knowing that his brother wouldn't be able to say no, not like this, not when the demon knew just the right things to say to make sure that Dean caved in.

"And just how are you going to get demons like that, huh? I'm pretty sure that they ain't gonna come over for dinner with the snap of your fingers, especially if they knew that they're the main course," he said skeptically, carefully watching the demon in front of him.

"Easy. Crossroads and such, and I can always hop in Hell to bleed out a few of them, and even pack lunch. All I need to do is get enough for a week or more, and then I wouldn't have to go off and around looking for demons every two or three days. Instead, maybe just once a week, which I'd personally call an improvement," he suggested, flashing a smile at his brother.

Both of them knew how this would end, and apparently Dean didn't see why they should drag the conversation out, so he scrubbed a hand over his face before making sure to glare at the demon. "Fine. We're back, then. Hunting with my supervision, and no funny business, got it?"

"Yep. We're golden," Sam nodded. "I've gotta say, I'm excited. Really looking forward to working together…like this. I can already feel it's gonna be fun."

"Fun, yeah, sure," Dean sighed, reluctantly crouching down and erasing a part of the devil's trap on the floor, the demon immediately stepping out of it as if it was a bear trap, which could spring to life and sink its sharp metal claws in him, never letting him go. He kept on smiling as he walked around freely, turning around to face the two boys in front of him.

"What?" he asked upon noticing the looks Dean and Kevin were giving him. When he looked down, he knew exactly what was wrong. "Oh, right… Your cure messed me up quite a bit."

"Puking black blood isn't something that usually happens to people, yeah." Dean nodded, walking over to the demon, then pulled a face. "What the hell did Crowley do to you…?"

"Who knows?" Sam shrugged, knowing perfectly well what the demon did to him, but wouldn't say a word of course. "I'm gonna change but please, don't follow me in my room, okay? I said I won't run, and I meant it."

"Good. And while you're making yourself presentable, I'm gonna make a few calls," Dean said, taking out his phone from his pocket, then frowned at the screen as he scrolled down his contact list.

"What is it?" Sam asked, to what his brother raised his head and his eyebrows.

"Nothing," he mumbled, then just like that, walked past the demon and out of the room, without a word or an explanation.

"Huh," was all Sam said, shrugging as he suddenly found himself in his room, teleporting or zapping, or whatever his demon powers enabled him to do, there.

He looked around the room for something to wear, and it didn't take him too long before he was all clean and neat again, not counting his wounds. His bottom lip was still a mess and his nails…well, also a mess, with most of them either broken or simply missing. Still, now that the handcuffs were off and he was out of the trap, these wounds would heal in no time, and Sam would be completely back to normal. At least, demon normal.

Everything seemed too good to be true. Dean failed to cure him, even though there were some unplanned painful events following that event, and he managed to get rid of his withdrawal problem for now. He knew that drinking his own blood was just a desperate measure to stop himself from completely breaking down, and that it wouldn't keep him at bay for more than a few hours at most, but it was more than nothing. And the best thing of them all was the fact that he could keep on hunting, with Dean by his side.

Yes, it will probably be a pain in the ass most of the times, but Sam could handle it, if only for the fun of it. Because Dean would try everything to get rid of whatever Crowley had done to him, and Sam was more than sure that he would fail, once again. And again, and again, and he would keep on failing right after getting his hopes up, which would just make the disappointment so much sweeter. Sam couldn't wait to see the look on his big brother's face when it would all sink in, that no matter how much he tries and sacrifices, how far he goes, failure would be inevitable, just like how both of them were doomed from the very beginning, to live a lonely and miserable life.

Smiling to himself, the demon fixed his hair before walking out to the library, where the chairs were still scattered all around the place. A lamp was laying on the floor, broken, the light bulb shattered to pieces just like the bond that once used to connect the monster and hunter together, but what was now a mere memory, an echo of the past, far away and out of reach. He stepped on the shards, crushing them as he walked through the wreckage they caused many hours ago, wondering why Dean hadn't cleaned up yet.

"Damn it!" He heard his brother's voice before he saw him. Dean carelessly tossed his phone on the table before he slammed his hands on the wood, and slumped forward a bit, his head hanging in what looked like exhaustion.

"No answer? Again?" Kevin asked incredulously, but he didn't need an answer, the hunter's annoyed sigh a clear one.

"Why the sulking, Dean?" Sam joined the conversation as he walked over to his brother and the prophet, immediately gaining their attention. Damn, he felt like a superstar.

"I was trying to call someone for the third time now, but he's still not answering. That idiot, he better not be lost again or something," Dean grumbled, giving a nasty look at his phone as he picked it up, then put it back in his pocket.

"Judging by the way you're talking… Cas?" Sam asked as he raised an eyebrow, and his brother nodded reluctantly, leaning against the table. "He might be gone in the wind, for all we know. It's the brainless angel we're talking about, after all."

"Not brainless, more like careless and negligent. And last time I saw him, he was running from Naomi's winged goons… I really hope he didn't get himself in trouble again."

"Aw, don't worry about your man-crush, he'll be just fine," Sam teased, then couldn't help but grin when he realized that nobody found his joke funny. "Come on, brighten up guys! What do you say we go on a hunt? Our very first one as a demon-human pair of hunters," he suggested, not even waiting for an answer as he marched over to his laptop that was on the table which, fortunately, was left untouched in the fight. Though finding his laptop where he left it all those months ago was a bit odd, maybe even unsettling, he was still glad that he didn't have to make the extra trip to his room and back.

"A hunt so soon after…all of this? No way," Dean refused, watching the demon with narrowed eyes. "Don't even start looking, because we're not going, Sam, I'm telling you."

"Oh, are you now?" Sam raised an eyebrow, sitting down in front of his laptop. "I think you misunderstood something here, Dean. This, our relationship right now, isn't a dictatorship. It's a damn partnership, your rules _and_ mine. So don't you dare expect me to jump when you say so, because that ain't gonna happen. What will happen, though, is that we agree on a decision, then execute it, like a good team. I can't believe that I'm the most diplomatic here. Come one, you're bringing shame to the human race."

"Fine. Awesome." The hunter walked over to Sam and looked over his shoulder at the screen of the laptop. "But since this is our first case like this, we've gotta chose something small. A salt and burn hunt, nothing big or complicated, got it?" he stated, obviously not wanting to deal with a larger hunt while having to babysit his little demon brother.

However, that was exactly what Sam wanted.

"Sure thing," he lied, scrolling down the news page, "whatever you say, Dean."

And Sam knew, in his bones and soul, in his very being, he knew that the next few days, weeks, months…were going to be wonderful.

And so did Dean, except for wonderful, he was quite sure that the upcoming days would be a living Hell, his life worse than when he had to work together with a soulless Sam. And it would last until the angel would finally pick up his phone, and from the looks of it, that wouldn't be anytime soon.

But he was already living the worst case scenario, so really, what _else_ could possibly go wrong…?


End file.
